


Closure

by matadora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon Timeline, Canonical Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, One Shot, POV Remus Lupin, Past Character Death, Post-Prisoner of Azkaban, Pre-Order of the Phoenix, Remus Lupin-centric, Second War with Voldemort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8303971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matadora/pseuds/matadora
Summary: I’m just looking for answers
  
  I just need some closure
  
  This is driving me insane
  
  And I don’t know if you’ll ever feel the same.
  
  So please don’t fade away
  
  Until I know you feel the same way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regents/gifts).



> • Who is not expecting this fic at all but she unknowingly planted the seed in my head and this is the first fic I finished in ages so. I mean, I'm not even sure if she likes this ship lol.  
> • Blanket warning for possible out-of-character writing. My knowledge on the canon and the trends of Harry Potter are hella rusty.  
> • Starts at the end of the third book and ends at the start of the fifth book. Kind of.  
> • Title and summary are from Clara Benin’s _[Closure](https://open.spotify.com/track/04ldhfKQYUZKBCg1TcdoAU)_ from the album _[Human Eye](https://open.spotify.com/album/0kaULzpPe7UGxacdVaVtOJ)_. Further recommended listening: _[Right Time](https://itunes.apple.com/ph/album/right-time-feat.-clara-benin/id1144422639)_ by Johnoy Danao feat. Clara Benin.

Remus had almost forgotten how cold it could get in his tumbledown cottage down in Yorkshire. It was the tail-end of June, barely past the noon hour, and already, he was constantly pulling his worn cloak about him, as though it was a late September afternoon in Scotland and a storm was approaching.

Or maybe it was because he’d just recently come from another full moon.

“Much obliged,” said the young wizard who drove the carriage when he received his tip. Dumbledore had been gracious enough to pay his services completely when he summoned him to take Lupin home all the way from Hogwarts. He turned his brown face up to the two-storey house. “Nice place you got here.”

Remus followed his line of sight, but kept quiet. He wasn’t even going to pretend anymore that the skewed window on the second floor was an art expression, or that his chimney was missing a few stones on one side because he’d gotten bored of a perfectly functioning, perfectly rectangular version. In general, the whole face just looked really old, like it was just waiting to be printed in a history textbook.

Turning to the younger man adjusting the strap of his jumper over his shoulder, he smiled and said, “It manages.”

“I’m sure it does, Professor,” the young wizard said. He tipped the rim of his cap to his former passenger; it was made out of a fading red cloth of sorts with an angry red bull in the middle, crowned by the words _Chicago Bulls_. Remus figured that at least one of his parents must have been a muggle. “Well, I’m off, then. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” he replied with a little nod. “And thank you.”

The driver mounted his box, flicked the reins once and tottered off to the direction of the town. Remus finally stepped inside his house.

Inside was just as he had left it; the windows and furniture were draped in white fabric, his random ornaments and all the books he ever owned stowed away in sealed chests so that the shelves and cases were empty. He put down his bags next to the shrouded coffee table, then deposited himself heavily onto the long couch behind it, not even bothering to pull off the sheet. He gave a contented sigh.

His wand soon appeared in his hand. One flick and the entrance closed itself with a lock. Muttering a spell, he directed the tip towards the sleeping fireplace next and set it alight. 

“That’s much better,” he groaned, drawing up his knees, kicking his shoes off, before he embraced them. He couldn’t believe that just a year past, as he was throwing on the lengthy covers over his furniture, he had been wondering excitedly if he would even be coming back to that cold and lonely place, with thoughts of Hogwarts’ warmth and tall walls and rich food racing like Quidditch broomsticks in his head. Well, now he knew the answer.

“Jinx,” he said to no one in particular.

_**July-August ‘94, Yorkshire** _

He saw the owls approaching while he was out pulling weeds that had grown around his house; Remus was poor but he was also neat.

It was a particularly hot summer day and it felt like the very air was sticking to his skin like a cocoon made out of spiderwebs. Eyes squinted to the flapping figures, he rose carefully from where he knelt under his window, dabbing his shirt sleeve around his jaw to little comfort. His face was permanently fixed to a hissing look in light of this.

Stepping inside the cottage proved to give inadequate relief as well but at least he had a roof over his head now. He passed behind his old carmine couch on his way to the small round beech dining table overladen with shopping bags filled to the top with food and other necessities from his recent trip down town. He reached into one of them.

By the time the owls had swooped in from the open kitchen window at the back, he was already breaking three pieces of sweet biscuits into four on the table. “I’m sorry this is all I have for you, but it will be another 2 or 3 months before I go shopping again,” he said to the birds—one tawny, one brown—the moment they landed. They helped themselves while Remus divested them of their deliveries. 

He smiled at them over his shoulder, shuffling towards the long dark red couch that faced the empty hearth and sitting down. One of the letters he received addressed him as _Mr. Remus John Lupin_ and was sealed with a wax coin branded with a familiar shield emblem. It made a handsome crack when he broke it. _Remus_ , the formal script addressed him warmly. 

_I have deposited to your account the last of your payroll along with your liquefied benefits. Although I am aware that you resigned from your position as professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts before your contract matured, I decided it was simply too much bother to do the math and chase some lawyers. Minerva agrees with me._

Chuckling, Remus flipped the first page of the crisp stationery. 

_You should by now be able to access it in the Gringotts branch nearest you. However, when you do, you might find a number of details amiss. I would like to assure you that this all balances with the books; along with your final salary, I have included a number of uncredited overtime pays which you, in your diligence and overeagerness, failed to report on time._ Remus gaped. _I’ve also added your teacher’s fee for Harry Potter’s Patronus tutorial and some portions from his late enrollment fee. As these were delivered late, in keeping with the law, I have also credited the penalties the school has incurred until the date of this writing, calculated as decreed by government policy against the highest seasonal rate. Finally, you will also find a small “maintenance fee” for your work in banishing a boggart or two lurking within school facilities. The payslip I have attached to this letter will have the full details, including the appropriate taxes deducted from your salary during your employment._

 _Should you have any questions, I must advise you to forward them to the Financial Department as Arithmancy is simply not my strongest suit._ Remus laughed. _All I know is that the books check out and the report I received has been signed off by the department head. I hope this news finds you well, and I apologise for all the late payments made._

_Yours,  
Albus_

Just as the letter indicated, the payslip at the last page provided Remus a bullet point summary of his final pay, although there were a few things in it that Dumbledore had failed to mention such as a _Hogsmeade Allowance_ he didn’t remember signing up for. All the same, he couldn’t help ogling at the fat amount of money staring back at him at the end of the page, like the very numbers glowed with a golden aura. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in possession of that much funds. With enough shrewdness, he may yet be able to survive the year. Remus now believed that aware of his financial needs, Albus Dumbledore may or may not have committed fraud just to lend him a much-needed helping hand.

He had to write back to him, there was no question about it. He was still nursing a boyish grin when he tucked the letter neatly back in its clean envelope and turned to check on the owls. 

Only the tawny one was left to clean up the crumbs her missing companion had left behind. 

He moved to the next letter, which was not sealed by an elegant branded wax and was made out of all the cheapest ingredients a parchment could be made from. He rolled it out with the same care he had treated Dumbledore’s letter with, though.

 _Moony_ , the angry script began. 

Remus jumped to his feet, his heart leaping up to his throat along with his urgency. _I hope this letter finds you well_ , it continued. _There’s no other way I can think of to proceed with this than to tell you that I’m also well and that you shouldn’t worry. Buckbeak and I are in hiding, somewhere well away from British jurisdiction._

_I honestly don’t know what to expect or what I’m thinking by sending you this notice. All I know is that I had to reach out to the only friend I have left from school. But you and I parted in unhappy circumstances, and so soon after we reunited. What happened after? What did I miss?_

_I’d love to tell you how I ended up where I am but as it is, I think I’m already overstepping my boundaries as a fugitive. Take your time to send a reply, but I hope that you do._

_Your old friend,  
P_

_P.S. When you write back to me, use different names. Looking forward to it._

“Sirius,” he whispered, the corners of his lips drawn up with a Permanent Sticking Charm. Remus brushed up his graying hair from his lined eyes. Sirius Black was safe and had opened a communication line to him.

He had to write back and he had to do it _now_. There was no question about it. Uncertain with what to do with himself, he spun round his heels and darted up to the rickety stairwell parting his first floor in the middle. He had to write back and he had to do it now.

Somehow, in spite of all his rushing about, he could not put quill to parchment soon enough. There was just so much to do, so much preparations to get out of the way but when he finally got to Sirius’ letter, the words seemed to flow out of him as if they’d been bleeding heavily from a deep cut. _Snuffles_ , he started in his characteristic scrawl.

_You will be pleased to know that your letter had found me well, and in high spirits. I’m glad you reached out to me. I left my post in Hogwarts following that unfortunate accident in the forest and have returned to my cottage here in Yorkshire. There was simply no way I could have stayed, especially after Snivellus had made sure to accidentally let slip what I’d been up to that night. I am telling you this because I know you will be too removed to do anything about it. You need not concern yourself, though. I just received my final pay from Dumbledore and if I spend it wisely, I should be able to survive another year._

_Send my regards to Buckbeak. Try not to eat him, it might give him ideas of eating you first._

_Your friend,  
Romulus_

Sirius’ response came a few days later: _Snuffles? Really? That was one drunk night, Romulus. One drunk night!_

Remus laughed. James, when he was still alive, did promise his best friend that he would never live it down.

It was good to have someone to talk to again, and it was good to be talking to his friend again. He’d never forgotten his friends from school despite the years that dragged on but every letter that flew in from Sirius seemed to make him laugh, as if they were back in their first year and they’d just met in the Hogwarts Express. Even in writing, he could still hear Sirius’ indignation, his joy and delight, his affectionate manner. 

_I finally showed myself to the muggles. Poor blokes ran like hell chasing after me. Guess where I turned up in._

_A children’s party_ , Remus tried. 

_Good enough guess but not close. I turned up in church. The priest couldn’t even look up from his podium while I was standing there at the back!_

_Did you tell them you were asking for forgiveness?_

_I thought about it, but I remembered I was innocent. If there’s anyone I should be asking forgiveness from, it’s Bambi and Faline. Not some statue pinned to the wall._

Remus wished they could speak about other things than the crime not committed, he always felt guilty because it felt like that was the only thing he was interested in. He knew they would have to talk about it one day but he wanted to do it in person. He was wiped out of other options, though; he prevented Sirius from talking about his environment, or even about anything remotely related to him that could not be dressed in vague terms in case the owls got intercepted. As for him, there was little else he could talk about; his days were slow and the townsfolk were all strangers to Sirius, and their days were also slow. If he tried to listen for gossip, there was nothing to begin with. If he spoke about his finances, it only served to rile up Sirius so he stopped.

_When I get back there, I’m finally going to break Snivellus’ nose. Permanently. And make him breathe through his asshole._

_Not if he starts shrieking to Cornelius Fudge first…_

But the letters never stopped; one way or another, they found something they could write about. Sirius’ penmanship improved, slowly regaining the natural aristocratic style he remembered from Hogwarts. Remus’ though, often progressed in reverse to resemble that of a chicken’s scratching.

_I noticed your handwriting. Was it that time of the month?_

_Right on time, as always. You didn’t look up?_

_I’m not clear on the hemisphericalistic laws governing this terrain. You know we only attended Astronomy with you so we could learn how to count._

_So you forgot how to count._

_Don’t even remember half of it._

_This is why you should be doing your own homework_ , Remus wrote, sighing and chuckling.

Sirius moved around a lot, and they switched names constantly. One rainy day towards the end of July (at least for Remus’ part), Sirius addressed his letter to Wilberforce and signed it as Elvendork. Then they became Corleone ( _“Remember the muggle movie we saw back in ’72?” “Ohhh…”_ ) and Amore ( _“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore!” “Very funny, Corleone.”_ ) and at the height of their creativity such that gave rise to the Marauder’s Map, Lumos and Nox. Remus figured Lumos was meant to be a messy play on his first and last names and may even refer to the light given by the moon. Sirius became Nox because it was the first spell that came to Remus’ mind, being the reverse of _Lumos_. And then there was his name, his surname and then his animagus. In a way, it all fit, too.

_What’s the weather like in Yorkshire this time of the year, Lumos?_

Remus looked out his window, at the setting sun and the blades of grass swaying in the wind like the green fur of a gigantic feline creature. In the distance, the skies rumbled.

_Nox,_

_Chilly, for the most part. The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer. It’s raining as I write._

_That sounds good_ , Sirius said. _I should tell you then that this will be my last letter for now. I’ll be in transit again. Baby’s scar is hurting. I’m still a bit foggy on the details but I’ll tell you about it when I get there._

 _Get here?_ Remus wrote carefully to make sure his confusion was legible. _What do you mean?_

Sirius answered with the dreaded obvious: _I’m coming back to Britain._

_**September ‘94** _

_Nox, don’t do it._

His letter went unanswered.

The days following Sirius’ last missive passed in something like a confused blur. Remus paced his house endlessly, checking his windows constantly to make sure that they were opened widely enough for an owl to fit through. He even had another go at that skewed window on the second floor but no amount of magic seemed to be strong enough to convince it to behave properly. Meals were rushed, dishes left in the sink until the last minute. 

Remus found himself frequenting the hidden wizard pub close to town as well, knowing that they were subscribed to the Daily Prophet and the Evening Prophet although his visits were not entirely uneventful. Once, when he’d heard a patron mention _black_ , he’d smashed his knee up the underside of the table he occupied and upset his mug. Beer had sloshed down his robe, the floor and his shoe but he at least caught the cup before it shattered. It turned out that he had jumped for no reason—the patron and the barkeep, who both had turned to him warily as he apologized—were talking about a neighbor’s _black_ cat. Not Sirius Black.

He was a distracted mess. He turned off his transistor radio only when he left the house but most of the time, he kept it close to him as he ate, cleaned, showered, slept. The monotonous drone of the news station he tuned into was not entirely a source of relief but it was better than nothing. He knew he should be looking for work before Dumbledore’s generous contributions ran out on him…

But he didn’t. He stayed at home when he was not at the pub, he was at the pub when he was not at home.

That morning on September, Remus was at home, bent over his passbook from Gringotts, a blank parchment on the right, the hand holding the quill frozen in time. His own chewing had slowed down, as though it had been cursed through his teeth, and his cup of tea sat forgotten with the rest of the scones. The faithful transistor radio blattered on with something senseless.

Three knocks punched the door.

They were heavy and deliberate; whoever the visitor was, they wanted to make sure that Remus heard them loud and clear. “Coming,” he said, barely glancing over his shoulder as he rose and reached for the tepid tea to wash down his mouth. His movements were mechanical, but he was too preoccupied to remember that he wasn’t expecting any visitors. The knocks came again. He brushed his hands on his robe en route to the door. “Coming,” he said again.

Chances were, he realized belatedly as he reached for the handle, that whoever this was would have to be lost. The cottage was situated on a hillock around five minutes from the edge of the town. No one went out of their way to drop by unless they absolutely had to.

Imagine his surprise when these very sentiments were echoed to his face when he opened the door. “…dy hell, Moony, how much farther from civilisation do you have to live, really?”

“Sirius!” He should not have gasped the name out loud, but he didn’t realize this when his arms whipped around the man and captured him in an unforgiving embrace. Sirius’ own arms went up and this time, finally, he could return the gesture. The shock had imbalanced both of them and they’d both had to totter like drunken dancers to regain their footing.

Sirius had changed, that was the first thing he noticed. Remus didn’t realize before how much the man had _shrunk_. He’d always remembered him to be a broad-shouldered young man with a sturdy chest, but now his arms could surround him completely. They parted finally and he saw the years he’d missed in his eyes again—the gray skin, the hollow eyes, the cracked lips, that tattered robe practically falling off his sharp shoulders.

“Bloody hell,” Remus whispered, looking at his friend closely, hands on his arms. Sirius’ hands were on his own. “All that time hiding and you didn’t even think about changing your clothes, mate? You escaped from Azkaban but you couldn’t even steal a decent robe?”

“Define _fugitive_ , Remus,” Sirius dared him and glared at him, but this only invited the other man to embrace him again and he, starved of affections, could do nothing but hug him back and rest his face on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, again,” he mumbled against the fabric.

“It’s so good to see you,” Remus replied. When he nudged his friend away, it was to welcome him to his house. Not that Sirius needed any invitation, he practically shuffled to the dining set where Remus had left his scones wide open.

“Are those scones?” Sirius called back to him. “Merlin, I _love_ scones. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had scones!”

Remus didn’t remember the last time he loved scones either. After checking the perimeter to make sure no one unwelcome had followed Sirius, he shut the door and locked it.

By the time he’d returned to his friend, Sirius had already claimed all the four scones he’d left on the plate. He sat on the edge of his table, watching the gaunt man try to stuff more pastries in his mouth than its natural capacity. “How about some gingerbread eh, mate? Bit of a Yorkshire classic to welcome you,” he sputtered stupidly.

Sirius nodded. He couldn’t even be bothered to look up to his gracious host and mumble a word of thanks. He also welcomed himself to Remus’ tepid tea. 

Remus left him to it while he produced the stout loaf wrapped in clear plastic along with a knife to make some slices. He’d barely been able to keep Sirius’ reaching fingers from being cut and then just managed to save the man from choking when he attempted to swallow the heel with the plastic still on. The tea soon ran out, and Remus took care of that, too. 

Sirius inhaled the first half of the loaf and was steadily working his way through the rest. Remus watched him with a studious silence, this sudden house guest who’d never existed in the last hour. He knew he ought to feel sorry for his starved friend but he was caught in awe of Sirius’ sudden appetite. He’d always known him as a small meals kind of eater, which worked perfectly with his diet regimen of literally snacking morning ’til midnight, house points be damned. It was Remus who kept his friends stranded with him in the Great Hall during all three meals of the day—even after Peter had had his fill, which in itself was no joking matter, Remus just kept going. And James, bored, especially when Lily had long left the Hall and since he became Chaser for the Gryffindor Team who needed to control his diet, would start pleading in a tiny voice, _“Nooo, pleaaase, don’t eat meee! I’m just a young cow off to see the world.”_ Peter would be a laughing mess and Sirius would start playing with Remus’ food.

“I must look so funny.”

Remus snapped out of his reverie, and his own smile broke. He saw that Sirius had just cleaned the cheap tray of gingerbread, the last of which was pinned between two long, yellow fingernails. His eyes were on the empty plate of scones.

“If there’s something you want to say to me, it’s better to get it out,” Sirius added, biting into the last heel he held.

Remus started to laugh. Was his friend feeling _embarrassed_? Sirius Black, embarrassed! “But what is there to be said, Padfoot?” he began. He pulled out his wand and drew a few strokes in the air. The plate and the tray flew to the sink, the teapot refilled itself. He snatched his passbook from its flight and stowed it away in an inner pocket while his parchment rolled itself to make way for the flat bar of chocolate that landed in front of Sirius. “Chocolate!” he gasped, and tore through it.

He kept his wand, and continued, “When you didn’t respond to my last message, I feared the worst for you. I kept the radio open,” Sirius glanced at it, “and visited the pub in case the Prophet would have said anything about you. They say no news is good news but…” He shook his head. “You would know…how difficult it is to always be left in the dark, holding your breath.”

Sirius fished for something in his ruined clothes and tossed it to the table. He was more interested in consuming his chocolate. Remus drew the letter towards him and noticed it was his. “I didn’t have time to respond, or to explain. I was moving, and I wanted to be here before dark.”

“Darkness would have given you cover, Nox,” Remus said, returning the letter to Sirius.

Sirius nodded. “I could trust myself to do it alone but not when there’s two of us…oh shit! I forgot all about Buckbeak—” He sprang to his feet. 

“Easy!” Remus caught him by his arms when Sirius threatened to tilt. He let the man rest his head on his shoulder, groaning while his vision spun. “Your body probably isn’t used to having so much to eat all at once. Forgive me, my friend. I should have considered that.”

“I would’ve just raided your pantry if you held back that piece of chocolate from me,” Sirius replied. “I’m fine, I’ll move slowly. But Buckbeak, I left him outside. He’s probably wondering where I am now. Come with me, I have to introduce you to him…”

The hippogriff was tethered to what was appropriately an old stable at the back of the house but one couldn’t recognize it with all the old stuff Remus had shoved into it. After a tense meeting between host and mount, both wizards worked together to give Buckbeak some roof and sleeping space. “We can put his water here,” Sirius said, indicating one corner of the stable. “And then I can put the bones here when I feed him…”

Remus had never seen Sirius so animated…or it had been years since. And it made him feel guilty about thinking about his money. His last salary from Dumbledore would not be nearly enough to keep all three of them fed and he could not, would not even if he could, charge Sirius for rent. He would have to figure out something else, that was all there was to it.

“So how did you come by this treasure?”

Remus shut the door behind him and saw Sirius looking around his cottage. He wondered if he was looking at the cracks along the walls and the ceiling, the rain stains and the ghosts of furniture past. He tried to be nonchalant about his living condition, shrugging as he approached Sirius from the back. “I met a witch when I was younger.”

Sirius whipped back to stare at him.

Remus shook his head, smiling. “She was old.”

“Oh.” Sirius quickly turned his attention to the faded floor patterns.

“For a time, she hired me to clean the house three times a week. And we became friends and I would often come over for tea. When she died, she left this house to my name. I’ve been living in it ever since.”

“Ever since, eh?” Sirius turned to look at Remus again. “Ever since…”

Remus nodded.

A shadow fell over Sirius’ ghoul-like features. His gaze fell to his feet.

It seemed like no matter how many times they would be reunited, they would always have to do it with a dark cloud lingering close by. Remus had to pick up his own smile again and shake it off. How long had he been thinking about his friend, Sirius Black? This simply would not do. “Come and see your room?” he prompted.

Those gray eyes suddenly lit up. “I have a _room_?” Sirius gasped, unable to keep the smile away from his features. 

“It’s upstairs, just next to mine,” Remus said, nodding towards the stairwell to lead the way up. “We just have to sort it out a bit, and I hope you won’t mind the window. I’ve been trying to repair it but it seems like it’s permanently enchanted to be skewed and jammed…”

One good thing about moving into an old house was that it had so many things that could be reused when the need arose. Much like the stable, the bedroom with the jammed window was filled with pretty much these items and between the two of them, Remus and Sirius managed to store some of them in boxes and chests, move them around and out of the way and make some space to make the room passable for living.

“I miss my wand,” Sirius lamented all of a sudden, resting his weight on the doorframe, arms crossed over his thin chest. He’d tried to hook his thumb on the garters of his trousers but as it was, it was already clinging to his pelvis like a desperate sailor shoved off the plank. Remus, in the meantime, was guiding the best-looking, least moth-eaten yellowing white sheet they could find into a corner that Sirius decided would contain his bed (“ _My_ bed. Did I say that right? My _bed_.” “Yes, Sirius.”).

“I still remember the weight of it,” he went on. “Something like that, you can’t forget so easily. It’s made of pine wood, too. I used to love smelling it.”

“Until Malfoy sent it straight up to your nostril and we had to rush you to Madam Pomfrey’s because your nose was gushing rivers of blood. I still remember that,” Remus shared.

“Something like that, you can’t forget so easily either,” Sirius said, frowning.

To both their combined luck, Remus hadn’t quite forgotten his Transfiguration lessons and the room sorted itself out to their expectations. The sheet fattened up into a decent mattress, a shattered crate they’d piled at the other side of the door built itself up into a stout, small but functioning table. About the only object that righted itself perfectly was a chest that had been broken on its hinges and its lock. Sirius howled and Remus whirled at him with a proud beam. Cruel years had pared his friend down to only a vestige of himself but in that one moment, he knew that that vestige still burned within his suffered shell. Sirius faced him with his own happy grin, full of yellow teeth though it was. Remus didn’t care—it was the kind of smile he would jump down a cliff for just to have again.

“So what’s next?” he asked, stowing away his wand.

“Mmm, I think a bath,” Sirius decided. Scratching his head, he added, “And a hair cut. I can’t begin to imagine what sort of colony must be thriving in my hair right now. You don’t happen to have Madam Fairweather’s Spring Fresh Hair Tonic, do you?”

Remus smiled sadly. “I think they discontinued that product five years ago.” Sirius wobbled, staring at him. Remus laughed.

He led him downstairs where the bathroom was next to the kitchen and lent him some clothes and a fresh pack of soap. After what felt like an hour, Sirius wandered up to his guest room and fell asleep while Remus was bringing him some more robes, a pillow and a blanket. That gave him the opportunity to hurry down to town and get more food and supplies for his new housemate who he’d expected to still be in bed by the time he got back, only to see him tending to Buckbeak in the stable, running his hand down his neck.

“Hope you don’t mind but I nicked some biscuits from the pantry,” Sirius began when he saw Remus approaching. “Buckbeak got hungry. It’s good I woke up before anyone came up to check on the noise.”

Remus smiled. He didn’t know what was there to say, he’d never lived with a wild hippogriff before. He pondered sending an owl to Hagrid to ask for help but remembered a second after that he was hiding a fugitive. Albeit one that came with a wild hippogriff…

Dinner was roast chicken, boiled potatoes and Yorkshire pudding for dessert. Sirius took care of polishing the dishes while Buckbeak happily received the bones.

Now he sat on the long couch, his back to Remus who stood behind him, bent towards his shoulder. His fingers held Sirius’ locks in place while a pair of scissors hovered close to them. Holding his breath, Remus snipped.

He snorted, doubling over, then threw himself backwards to let out a cackle.

Sirius panicked, immediately reaching for his hair. “What did you do to my hair!” he cried.

“Nothing, nothing!” Remus was still laughing, running his fingers down the half-tangled mess. “Hold still or I might cut your ear!”

In the end, for as long as Sirius did not raise his expectations, Remus could say that he did a decent job. Sirius’ new chopped locks brushed his shoulders. Those that he cut off disappeared with the whisk of a wand.

“Thanks,” Sirius muttered when the refilled cup of tea floated back to his hands. He took a careful sip of the peppermint concoction. “So…that’s the long and short of it.”

In the silence that followed, there was only the crackling fireplace and the quiet hush of the evening shower to be heard. Remus looked thoughtfully into his cup, his brows and lips frowning deeply in thought. “You said the last time Harry’s scar hurt was when Lord Voldemort was in Hogwarts…I remember Flitwick telling me something about this. His first Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was a wizard named Quirinus Quirrell. He became inhabited by Voldemort and tried to kill Harry because of that.”

Sirius’ hand tightened around his cup. “Is he dead?”

Remus nodded. “But I was not told how.”

Sirius breathed easily. After gulping down his tea, he put it down on the coffee table and brought up his spindly knees to carry his arms. “So what do you make of this, Professor?”

Remus paid him a half-hearted glare. Sirius smirked slightly. He shook his head. “I don’t know…that is to say…I don’t know…what to make of what I think this means. If Harry’s scar hurt because of Voldemort’s presence in the past, then that means—”

“His scar is hurting now because Voldemort’s presence is nearby,” Sirius finished, nodding. “You’ve heard about what happened in the Quidditch World Cup. The Dark Mark.”

“Wormtail,” Remus hissed.

Sirius said nothing.

Remus lost his taste for tea. With a heavy sigh, he surrendered it to his coffee table, right next to Sirius’, and dumped his weight on the couch’s back support. Sirius shuffled closer, eying him. Remus shook his head. “We should have killed him when we had the chance,” he said.

“We should have killed him,” Sirius agreed. “Harry’s right, though. James is dead…but even so.”

“I can’t imagine what he would say if he learned that we killed Peter.” Remus combed his hair up and off his face. “It would have broken his heart, even if he knew what Peter had done. I don’t think he’d speak to both of us.”

“I may as well have betrayed him. My best friend.” Sirius frowned. “Well…that’s what I did anyway, didn’t I?”

“Sirius,” Remus breathed, reaching forward to take his hand from where it laid lifeless on his crossed legs. “Sirius, we were _fooled_. He tricked us. We didn’t know any better. You thought I was the spy, I’d thought it was you.”

“If this were a joke, James would be rolling with laughter if he found out,” Sirius said, smiling wryly. “Little Wormy played a trick on us. Who’d have thought that could happen?”

“That’s the tragedy, isn’t it?” Remus smiled sadly. “ _No one_ thought it could happen.”

The truth hung heavy in the air, like a black balloon which no one dared poke. Both Remus and Sirius were determined to ignore it as they looked at each other, green eye to gray eye, the weight of the mischief pressing down on their shoulders.

Sirius’ free hand twitched. Like a possessed automaton, it rose slowly in the air, and reached for Remus.

He held his breath; he knew what that hand meant. When he’d slumped against the couch…thirteen years ago, he would have slumped on someone else. That someone else was now asking to tuck his sagging locks to the back of his ear, to trace his cheekbone with his thumb, and then his jawline. He could still remember that habit as though it never stopped.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he felt it.

“Sirius,” he whispered.

Sirius stopped, the back of his fingers already on Remus’ cheek.

He shuddered, keeping absolutely still. He didn’t know what Sirius would do and he found himself hoping desperately he wouldn’t pursue. So when he retrieved his hand in silence, Remus felt a burst of relief and relaxed. “Twelve years,” he began after a moment, as if to remind the man of the distance between them. “And even before that…you and I…have been growing apart.”

Sirius’ frown darkened. “I’m not proud of that,” he said.

But Remus smiled forgivingly. “Sirius, we were at war, then. And we were young, and scared and confused. You thought I was the spy…I knew something was wrong when you kept forgetting to tell me about our meetings, and you seemed so sullen during our dates.”

“If I’d known it was Peter, none of this would have happened.”

“But we didn’t.” Remus reached to take his hand again to squeeze it. “I don’t blame you one morsel of your actions.”

When Sirius exhaled, it came out in a raspy voice.

“And after that,” Remus continued slowly, “we had been separated from each other for too long. You, were incarcerated in Azkaban. And I,” he looked Sirius in the eye, “have been living alone.”

“Alone?” Sirius’ brows quivered again. “Remus…all this time…”

He shook his head. “You do realise,” he chuckled, “that if I went looking for someone, it would only be too soon. And I would only be searching for you in them. I’m sure you understand,” he smiled more widely at the thought, “how awkward it would be, if I’d chosen to spend the night with them.”

Sirius snorted. He didn’t laugh but it showed clearly on his lips.

Remus grinned. “Besides. They’d have to be privy to personal information only a select few have the privilege of knowing.”

“What a shame,” Sirius said, pushing back his hair from his eyes. “And here I thought you held out on me.” That was a joke.

Remus meant to take it as one except there was just too much regret in it. His smile faltered. “Sirius, let me make one thing straight,” he said. He leaned forward, towards his friend. “I do, still, very much love you. But to what extent…and in what manner,” he shook his head, straightening up, “I…I still don’t know. It has been too long. And it’s…still too soon.”

“I understand,” Sirius said. He sounded sad.

Remus wanted to apologize, but his tongue failed him.

“Remus,” Sirius began anew, “there is…something I want to confess, too.” He looked up to the man, and the man furrowed his brows and tilted his head slightly to one side. “When I escaped from Azkaban…I thought everything was going to get back to normal. I hadn’t lost my magic…and I remembered how to… _feel_ when I’d been numb for so long, inside my cell and in my head. But…what I learned since then was that…these things take time.” He flicked his tongue across his pale lips.

“There were simple emotions that I learned again when I left,” he continued, “Joy, elation…anger, disgust, these were all easy things. Like the primary colors in a wheel. But…there are others…that I still don’t quite remember. Like envy, guilt…”

He moved his hand to the center of his chest.

Remus felt like a dementor had passed over him when he realized what Sirius’ action meant. “Love?” he said to him in surprise, and when Sirius nodded, he felt the world drop below him. His frown appeared again, although it hesitated. “You…you don’t—”

“I don’t know, Remus,” he reminded him. “After being surrounded by dementors for so long…I don’t quite remember what it is. When I saw you again, I thought everything was going to work out according to what’s best. I would ask for your forgiveness, you would understand…and you would put me back in my feet and we would be together again. As if nothing had happened. But…but now I’m looking at you…and you’re finally _so close_ …but there’s something different. Something I can’t quite understand.”

Remus didn’t know he was holding his breath.

“Well,” Sirius said after a pregnant pause, “to put it quite frankly…I don’t feel like kissing you. That’s what I found out when I tried to touch your hair; I felt nothing. But I can’t say…that I don’t care for your presence, either. And this?” He raised their joint hands. “This is something I can still understand. And want. I like the way it feels.”

Remus glanced at the hands they held, and noticed somehow that it was Sirius’ doing the lifting. He looked him in the face again, that expressionless face waiting for his answer. To Remus’ surprise, he started to laugh. And he smiled again. “That makes two of us,” he said simply.

“Great.” Sirius smirked. “Misery does love company.”

“Unfortunately,” Remus agreed. Their hands returned to the couch, but they kept their fingers attached, still. “You _will_ stay the night, of course?” he asked all of a sudden, heart in his throat. “Our confessions…well,” he shrugged lopsidedly, “They shouldn’t have to change anything. You are in need of a place to stay and a friend, both of which I am happy to be.” He smiled. “We have been reunited too briefly, besides, and I am hoping this time we can change that. We have years to catch up on, Padfoot.” And a past to sort out, a friendship to mend.

“Sure,” Sirius said, shrugging easily back. “If you do so insist, Mr. Moony.” He snickered while Remus shook his head. “How could I say no? After all, I did come all the way here, didn’t I?”

_**October ‘94** _

In the days that followed, they managed to figure out some semblance of living together. Remus returned to his slow days and had meant to start looking for work but there was suddenly so many things to do in the house what with a guest over. He fussed over the pantry, fussed over _him_ , kept the house straight and constantly checked on the hippogriff to keep him quiet and happy. Sirius slept for most of the day and Remus took pains to observe this peace. Because when he woke up, it was normally only because of two things: he needed to eat, or he needed to use the bathroom.

“I’m just throwing away all the food you’re giving me, and you haven’t got all that much to spare in the first place.”

“Come off it, Padfoot.” Remus put on a smile for his sulking friend. The light from the fireplace may have hidden Sirius’ paleness but the shadows only served to make him thinner. “You’ve got to give your stomach something to throw up. And it needs to get used to eating normal food. Now take this gruel,” Remus raised the spoon again, “and eat up. Unless you want me to play the choo choo train with you.”

“Like hell you will,” Sirius snarled. 

“Between the two of us, who has a wand?” Remus pointed out, brow raising. That was enough to convince Sirius to eat.

Progress was slow, but it was progress. Remus was grateful that he wasn’t the only one working in this relationship; in time, he noticed Sirius staying awake longer, putting down a more balanced meal and keeping it down.

“So what do you do when you’re sitting all day here?” Sirius asked one time while he was doing the dishes, Remus’ wand in hand. “Do crossword puzzles?”

“Sirius,” Remus laughed, putting away the leftovers, “I don’t even have a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I get my news from the radio. When I do find work again, I’ll renew my contract with them.”

“Sounds fair,” Sirius said. After a minute, he added, “You don’t even have back issues?”

It bothered the animagus so much that one evening, Remus was surprised to see a black dog ambling to Sirius’ side of the couch and putting down a mouthful of Prophets before he went up to his room to change. “You went out to town?” he cried, marking his book and running to the front door to lock it—only to realize that Sirius had taken the _back_ door, the one that led to the stable. “You were only supposed to check on Buckbeak!”

“Oh come on, Moony, what are you? My sweet old mum?” Sirius stopped in the middle of the stairwell, considering the thought. “Actually, that would’ve been immensely better.”

“Sirius, _please_ be serious,” Remus sighed, raking up his hair. “You’re a _fugitive_. You could have at least told me where you were going…I, I could have come with you!”

“What would you say if they asked you who that cute little black dog is, hm?” Sirius dumped himself on the couch, quill in hand and fished a rolled up Prophet from under his long legs. The rest of the issues fell and Remus picked them up to put them on the table. “I’m not a moron, Remus. Notice that I took precautions.”

Remus sat next to his folded legs. “I did,” he assured his friend flipping the newspaper to its crossword side. “But you’re a moron if you don’t think I wouldn’t worry. You don’t have a wand, and you’re not all that well yet. And you’re out of shape.”

Frowning, Sirius poked at the shy hill rising under his robe. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he muttered. Then shifted a little to lay down more comfortably on the couch. “It’s all this sitting around, I tell you. Have you gone out to smell the air? It’s so nice.”

Somehow, that made Remus smile. “One step at a time. I’ll get a subscription with the Prophet again, just for you. In the meantime—” a thieving hand darted past Sirius’ defenses to pinch his tummy. Sirius yelped and covered up his vulnerability too late, “—perhaps you should do something about that, hm?” He grinned, rising.

“Git, I’ll make you eat your own words!” Sirius barked after his friend, but only a blind man would have missed the barely-restrained smile dancing on his face. Remus didn’t notice until he’d made it to the kitchen that _his_ heart was beating fast, and that he was trying to school his own, silly smile out of his face. “Tea, mate?” he called out over his shoulder—because he realized that he didn’t know what he was doing in the kitchen to begin with.

He knew from their younger years together that chronic boredom was one of Sirius’ worst afflictions. The man would not even be bothered to zap a cockroach if he was completely sapped of motivation—but give him something to fight for and he would make anyone who got in his way wish they hadn’t been born.

The days that followed brought in another surprise, but not unwelcome guest to the cottage: rhythm. A pattern. In the morning, Remus would get up to see Sirius making breakfast and take care of the dishes while he looked into Buckbeak. Sirius would sweep the floor after and wipe the windows while Remus minded his own business. Lunch would be Remus’ turn to cook, and in the afternoon, he would leave Sirius alone who would be exercising until dinner was ready. After the dishes were done and Buckbeak was fed, they would sit in the living room, and Sirius would be solving the day’s puzzle while Remus would be reading a book…if Sirius wasn’t nagging him with his toe and a crossword clue.

It was, Remus decided, a nice change from his years of solitary living. Still mundane, more mundane than he’d like, but he counted his blessings. It was good to know that you weren’t coming home to emptiness for once—there would be tea in the kitchen, a hippogriff taking its nap, and upstairs, a wizard filling up an entire tiny room with all of himself.

Remus listened to Sirius’ steady, controlled breaths as he parked himself by the door frame, steaming mug in hand. He watched his friend, stripped down to his trousers, lie himself down his bed, arms behind his head, then carry himself up to his folded legs, only to bring himself down again. His paunch had disappeared—but his body wasn’t quite the same, anymore. The demands of a dog’s muscular structure was much too different from that of a human’s, after all. Remus could see where the months of canine living had toned him and which parts of him were left to fend for themselves. Combine that with an erratic, highly restrictive diet…

Well, this was what he got—a wiry man, bordering on lanky, a harsh, unjust version of his stockier youth. But Remus could see where there had been improvements. Sirius was much fatter now than when they’d first met, and he was regaining his natural color and the shine on his much-loved black hair. Even his teeth had improved by a mile—although that was likely due to a daily intake of a specialized potion Remus brought home for him.

Sirius carried himself one last time to his bent knees, catching his breath. Then smirking at Remus, he asked, “Enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“I’ve seen better,” Remus said, hiding his smirk. When Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes, his grin broke free.

“That’s what you always say,” the wizard groaned, referring to his youthful days of showing off to a perpetually unimpressed Remus, although they both knew what the real score was. He pushed himself up to his feet and padded to his clothes draped over the top of a chest containing the house’s old knick-knacks to dry. “So? How’d it go?”

Remus didn’t answer, choosing to drink from his mug instead. When Sirius raised a brow over his shoulder, putting on his robe, Remus smiled and shook his head.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” he consoled his frowning friend. “I haven’t reached the end of town yet.”

“Bollocks,” Sirius snarled. Remus laughed. He didn’t need to ask why there was suddenly a mug of tea floating to his direction, knowing his friend’s brand of humor. All the same, Sirius plucked it from the air and gulped down a mouthful. “This town’s full of losers, that’s what.”

“This town is also full of muggles, former employers and establishments who don’t have any opening right now. I’ll try again tomorrow,” he repeated for him.

Sirius shook his head, putting the mug down the chest, as if it had been intended for him in the first place. “Anyway, take a look at this. It came with a letter for you but I left it on the dining table. Here.” He offered the Daily Prophet to Remus.

Remus stepped forward to take it from his hand. “The Triwizard Tournament, I’ve read about this. Have the champions been chosen yet?”

“Not yet but read on.”

Remus scanned the tightly fitted words, mumbling them to himself while Sirius gulped down the rest of his tea. “…tober 30, Hogwarts will be welcoming delegates…” Sirius spun his hand to tell Remus to keep going. “…xime, and the Durmstrang Institute led by Headmaster,” Remus stopped with the beating of his heart, “Igor Karkaroff!”

“Also known as the infamous turncoat,” Sirius said, crossing his arms. “I’m just as surprised as you are that some criminal like that would become headmaster but knowing Durmstrang’s propensity for the Dark Arts, you start to make sense of things.”

“But more importantly, he’s coming to Hogwarts. _Harry_ is at Hogwarts!” Remus turned to Sirius. “Has he written back?”

Sirius shook his head. “My last letter from him was when he was insisting he was fine.”

“Someone has to tell him about Karkaroff,” Remus said, folding the paper. “I don’t doubt that Dumbledore will be able to protect him but we can’t take chances…” He lit up. “You said I have a letter waiting for me.”

“You think my godson would write to you when I’m here?”

“You think your godson doesn’t worry about you?” Remus whirled and hurried down the stairs. “If I were Harry, I wouldn’t want to tell you anything that would bring you back here.”

“You just want Harry to write to you sometimes!” Sirius barked out his laughter, but Remus ignored him. True to what Sirius had told him, there was a letter addressed to him sitting on the table. His full name was written in a beautiful slanting script. Definitely not Harry’s and definitely not anyone’s Remus knew. He frowned, opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of paper bearing the mark of the Ministry of Magic. Remus froze. Definitely nothing he was expecting.

“Oi, Moony! Didn’t you say we ought to do something for Halloween?”

The chair creaked when it budged against his stumbling weight, and then again when he fell into it. His eyes read back to the start of the letter, but his heart was no longer in it. He heard Sirius’ heavy steps descending from the second floor

“Oi. That was the part where you tell me, ‘Sirius, you are not suggesting we Apparate all the way to Hogwarts and nab Karkaroff, are you?’ Which I am!” He paused. “Remus?”

His steps started again. Sirius appeared in the dining area, shuffling to his seat, a busted settee which had been Transfigured to suit their requirements and creaked under his weight. He snatched the letter when Remus offered it to him…although Remus had simply let his hands fall to his lap, his weight against the back of his seat on his left side. He watched Sirius’ expression move from confusion to shock to indignation.

“This—?!” Sirius slammed the letter down the table. “It’s a prank. It’s a stupid prank’s what it is!”

“It’s a copy of a legislation on the employment of werewolves, signed and sealed by the Minister of Magic himself,” Remus breathed heavily, “addressed personally to me, a werewolf. Who’d just recently been employed by Hogwarts, and brought such a great danger to its students.” He looked up to meet Sirius’ burning eyes. “Effective immediately. It’s not a prank, Sirius. It’s—”

“What, a warning? A threat? It’s sodding bullying, that’s what it is!”

“Sirius,” Remus hissed.

“Fuck this, I’m not gonna take this sitting down,” Sirius growled, flying to his feet, marching out. “I’m going to murder that Umbridge if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Sirius, _sit_ ,” Remus snarled, “ _down_.”

Sirius stopped. The very air that filled the cottage stopped.

Remus exhaled, but there was no reason to think that he was reining himself in, or that he was going to stop Sirius from doing anything stupid if he persisted. His already pale face had gone even whiter, his jaw rigid even as he minded his breathing. If looks could burn, Sirius’ seat would have long turned to ashes by now.

“If there’s anyone who’s going to do the murdering,” Remus growled quietly, “it’s me. She must think this is all a game.” He shut his eyes. “A little joke. Some harmless fun, like some bloody gladiator’s match. What’s it to her if we all starve to death? We’re just numbers. We’re just cannon fodder, scapegoats to be blamed if proper, law-abiding wizards can’t find good work. We could pile our corpses in her front door and she’d only wonder why her delivery was taking long!”

The floorboards creaked under a moving weight.

“She’s worse than the inferni. Merlin, Sirius, if I just wasn’t scared, if I just didn’t care, I would have her hanging by the neck right now! That bloody _bitch_ ,” he wheezed, dragging the air through his bared teeth. Suddenly, he felt Sirius’ hands upon his shoulders, those fingers pressing and kneading his muscles but he shook his head. He refused to be comforted though he persisted with his presence. “I’ll scrape her clean, if that’s what she’s scared of. Touch her and I will maul you, Sirius, I swear it!”

_**November ‘94** _

Following the letter from the Ministry of Magic, Remus became sullen.

Sirius had somehow managed to convince him that there was no way to confirm the legislation’s legitimacy but the Evening Prophet arrived as they were solving the Spot the Difference comic, bearing the new law on its front page. And Remus’ mood took a tumble from there.

He didn’t look for work like he said he would, the next day. He didn’t leave the house unless he absolutely had to in the days that followed. He stayed home making spiraling budgets, mending his clothes or pretending to read. When he felt Sirius looking at him, he would only smile back and shake his head. Remus played a hopeless charade with his housemate—they both knew he hadn’t come to terms with his new life just yet, but he’d be damned if he accepted it just like that and admitted to Sirius and himself that he needed emotional support.

The one time he almost cracked, it was past midnight. He’d gone down to relieve himself, then checked in on his friend before he went back to his room and lied down, staring at the wall. Silent minutes later, he heard his door creaking open, and felt Sirius’ weight cross the floorboards. Immediately, Remus pretended he was asleep.

He didn’t need his eyes open to know that Sirius stood over him; he could feel him by the skin of his neck, hear him breathe and he smelled him, too. Spring fresh. Sirius was wild, a spicier fragrance would have better suited his persona but only those who had the privilege of being his intimates would know otherwise. And Remus was one of them. One of the lucky few.

One of the lucky few to feel his warm hand gripping him on his sleeve, not to shake him awake but just…to hold him. It could mean so many things, and Remus knew them all and welcomed them. Under his blanket, he felt his right hand stir. In his mind’s eye, he reached up to lay it on Sirius’ grasp, and he asked him, _“Staying over tonight?”_

The impulse was gone as soon as it came. Sirius took it with him when he left the room. That night, he dreamt about the man’s familiar bulk pressed up against his back, his long arms draped heavily around him, the smell of crackling wood from the Gryffindor Common Room’s fireplace wafting in. When he woke up, he was facing daylight. And he forgot all about his thoughts from last night.

The ghost of Remus Lupin lingered in the cottage in spite of Sirius’ efforts to bring him back from the dead but Merlin bless the man, he never gave up. Not out of simple friendly charity, Remus would realize later in hindsight, but due to some underlying panic and desperation, of a man who had just so recently reunited with an old friend and felt that he would lose a piece of him again. For what it was worth, it all turned out for the better.

Imagine Remus’ surprise when a big, black dog, suddenly so muscular from the last time he saw him, bounded up to his bed, all slobber and wagging tail. He dragged him downstairs by the sleeve of his sleeping dress where breakfast was ready, and nagged and prodded him while he cleaned the dishes and fed Buckbeak. When Remus found an opportunity to ignore him, Padfoot executed perfect whining sounds and pleading looks.

Finally, Remus let out a long-suffering sigh, that old resigned smile back in its proper place. He reached to pet the black dog and scratch him under his jaw, and then he said, “All right, Padfoot. We’ll go out for a walk.”

The days passed better since. There was something about the unchanging scenery of the Yorkshire town that Remus never saw in his dark days, and now comforted him. It was a relief knowing that the legislation didn’t have control of everything, and there were still those townsfolk who spoke to him without prejudice towards his kind.

“I won’t stop,” Remus promised Sirius one rainy night over a game of chess they played on the floor next to the fireplace, the first round of which was going on forever and ever because both sides seemed to be pulling gambits one after the other. “I won’t give up.”

Sirius smirked at him. “Now there’s the Moony I know.” If there was anything they had in common, after all, it was their penchant for breaking the rules and laughing at its sorry face.

Morning walks became a part of their routine since. Sometimes it was Padfoot who came along but sometimes, he and Sirius took a stroll down the nearby forest where they disappeared to during the full moon.

“Here it is, this is where we stopped last month.” Sirius indicated a mark he had carved on the side of a bulging root with a kick.

Beside him, Remus stood on tiptoes and peered down the steep ravine beyond it, clutching on a low branch in case he fell. “There’s probably another way around. I don’t doubt that we can go down through here but if it’s raining, I don’t want to risk it.”

Preparations for their next full moon excursion took up much of their attention, too, an ironic activity given the recent development in the Ministry of Magic. The full moon waxed and waned.

Four days later, Remus finally regained nearly the fullness of his health. He could move around better, and stay up longer, even well past his normal bedtime.

He moved from his corner under the shadow of the stairwell, where he hid to preserve the anonymity of his friend’s location, when Sirius pulled his head back from the fire and gasped a generous lungful of the clean crisp air. A rainshower had just passed. Sirius was shaking the ashes off his black hair and dusting himself down when Remus asked him, “So it’s not Karkaroff?”

“Correction, I don’t _think_ it’s Karkaroff.” Sirius coughed, cleared his throat and stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, hand on his nose. He gave a sigh of relief when no sneezing fits came forth. “But that’s not necessarily good news.”

“Whoever put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire is still at large. And we’re none the wiser than Harry is,” Remus spelled out the conclusion for the both of them. Sirius confirmed this with a nod. He snorted quietly, eyes straying to the floor, his weight against the stairwell’s barrier, arms crossed. Sirius picked himself up and dusted his knees. “If only we could find out more about the attack on Moody.”

“You think it’s them?”

“I think it’s anyone’s game at this point in time,” Remus said. “Moody, Jorkins…somehow, this can’t be happening all at once coincidentally. It never is.”

“Especially with the Death Eaters in the Quidditch World Cup, but they haven’t…officially come out of hiding yet.” Sirius scratched his head. His hand turned up with ashes, still.

“Honestly…” Remus began, but stopped. If he were to be honest, he wasn’t sure he would be any happier if things had turned out that way. Perhaps that would make a suspect more visible, but that also meant the worst of his imaginations.

“Hm?”

Remus looked up to Sirius who shook still more dust from his hair and popped a brow towards him. His immediate reaction was to shake his head, but immediately attached to it before Sirius found him out, “It’s just that honestly, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’ve no clue, no decisive evidence.”

“Isn’t that always the case?” Sirius scowled.

Remus should feel bad, but he only exhaled in relief. He put on a smile again. “Well, that being the case,” he nodded towards the dining table, “I thought maybe we could have some late midnight snack.”

“Now?” Sirius asked, confused. He turned to the round table where they ate and saw a single-layered white cake with a lone, lit red candle sitting in the middle. “Is that a cake?”

“Unless I got duped, it would have to be,” Remus chortled, leading the curious man to his seat. “I figured I might wait to get it out in case you needed a little pick me up, and you did. I’m surprised you didn’t boast about it on Harry, actually.”

“Boast about what?” Sirius asked, poking the cake and sucking the icing off his finger. “Did I win the lotto?” He frowned at Remus.

But Remus stared back at him, as if he’d knocked the wind out of him. “Sirius, it’s November,” he said softly.

“I know it’s November, but why…” Sirius trailed off, a look of urgency slowly filling his eyes. “Merlin, y, you mean…?!”

“You forgot your own birthday.” Remus understood at last. And he’d taken it for granted completely that for twelve years, thirteen, he never celebrated. 

“I thought it was familiar,” Sirius admitted, confirming what Remus now knew. “But I lost count of the days in Azkaban, until it didn’t matter anymore. Last year, I was completely obsessed with getting Pettigrew that I’d forgotten it again. This is the first time I’m celebrating it as a free man!”

Free. Remus felt a pang. If only he truly was free.

“How old am I now? Three, four…Merlin, 35! That’s a lot older than I expected to be alive for. So today is my birthday?”

“Actually, it was on the 3rd.” Remus smiled apologetically. “But I…hadn’t prepared for it. And when you didn’t mention it, I thought you might have been disappointed but I couldn’t find the courage to step up from my guilt. So this is why all I could get you is a cake. I…wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s one of the best surprises I’ve had in a while. Thank you!” Sirius sprang forward, reaching for Remus’ nape to pull him in. 

He stopped, inches short of Remus’ nose, wide eyes staring at each other in absolute shock. In his excitement, Sirius had allowed himself to be possessed of the past, and Remus knew he would have reached up to him in return if he hadn’t been too stunned to move. It wasn’t that he was…averse to the idea of revisiting their history…but they never talked about it. Yet. And he never saw Sirius…coming forward with his intentions. 

Remus swallowed down something that felt suspiciously like an owl’s egg. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, Sirius’ hand at the back of his neck and Sirius himself, but then he also knew how to make… _studied_ , impulsive decisions. Such as: _If he moves a hair’s breadth closer, I am going to kiss him._ It was the same kind of thought he had the first time he and Sirius had kissed—more than 15 years ago in the school clinic after Sirius was terribly injured following a badly executed revenge plot which was meant to defend Remus’ honor and failed dismally. It was still, to this day, at once his most embarrassing memory from his younger days—when he pulled away without receiving a response from his long-time crush—and his most exciting one—when Sirius raised himself after him and reacquainted their lips…and their teeth. Not the most romantic kiss in living memory but it had its good points.

That was it, he was going to kiss him. Remus was psyching himself. When Sirius budged, he tensed himself to move forward. 

But suddenly Sirius was an arm’s length away, now an arm and a half. And Remus realized that this was not the day. Yet.

Remus let out the breath he’d been holding. Lacking of a better reaction, he smiled. Tonight was not yet the night for him to make a terrible mistake. He had yet another day to live. 

“Sorry,” Sirius winced, giving back Remus’ personal space. He ran his hand consciously through his hair. “Got ahead of myself…”

“Not at all, old friend,” Remus said kindly. That was it. That was him saying he didn’t mind. That was Sirius’ cue to come back to him. 

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Remus had botched his lines because there was a look that came over Sirius’ face that would only make sense if he had an upset stomach. And then it was gone as soon as Remus had imagined it. 

Well, this was turning out to be a wild night. “Make a wish!” Remus said hurriedly, escaping to the kitchen. “I’ll just get some plates out…”

_**December ‘94** _

For thirteen years, he forgot why he’d ever come to love Sirius Black. In four months, he remembered everything.

His bravado, his irony, his humor, his generosity and that surprising tenderness beneath all his defenses and pretensions. In his youth, he’d come to be steadily attracted to these traits, one after the other. More than fifteen years later, it almost seemed like he was falling in love for the first time all over again.

It was a boyish idea. Remus was surprised of his own capability to still have them. He’d long thought it was no longer possible, that he’d long outgrown his foolish blissfulness, that age of sexual curiosity, but he realized suddenly that that had been his loneliness speaking. Now he glanced every time Sirius entered the room, cheered up a little when Sirius asked him what the word was at 23, across, or when Padfoot nudged his hand while they were walking so Remus could scratch him behind the ear.

He felt a little embarrassed in the face of these thoughts. He was too old for them now. This was simply the past calling out to him.

…maybe it _was_ the past calling out to him.

He missed his schooldays, he missed his friends. He felt alarmed when he realized that he might just be mixing his affections for his friend with his longing for the old days, when he was truly alive. What a terrible mistake that would have been, a terrible crime towards his best friend. They were no longer schoolboys, and times have severely changed since…

He heard the bottle of Butterbeer hit the coffee table before he heard Sirius say, “Here y’are, mate.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, glancing up from the penknife between his hands (“Overcompensating, just like his godfather,” he’d said earlier and received a faceful of chips from Harry’s godfather) to flash Sirius his smile. He returned to the blade soon after. “I’m just thinking about James and I—”

The thick fabric of what was unmistakably a blanket surrounded his stooped form, its weight a heavy although not unpleasant surprise. From under his nose, Remus saw Sirius’ hands pulling the checked sheet over him, effectively wrapping him in a sagging cocoon. “Not a pretty sight, eh, mate?” he said, looking up carefully to Sirius’ back. 

“When were you never a pretty sight, Remus?” Sirius said. “Oh right! When you look like you’re half-dead.”

Remus snorted, pulling the blanket closer around him. It was only a little good-natured joke, a common act of endearment from his friend, but perhaps from a time when the effects of his affliction weren’t completely clear to everyone yet. When his hair wasn’t turning gray yet, and when his face was still young, his skin smooth. When he still believed that he could live forever, and not when it felt like every transformation brought him 10 years closer to his grave. A grave he likely won’t be able to afford at that.

“Forgive me, Sirius,” Remus replied, smiling. “It’s just that it’s so comfortable down here at the bottom of the food chain.”

“The bottom of the food chain would look much more comfortable with one of his new robes,” Sirius pointed out from behind his own bottle of Butterbeer across Remus’ side of the couch, brow high.

Remus opened his mouth to protest, and then he sighed. “So that’s what this is all about,” he said.

Sirius swallowed down his mouthful and placed the bottle next to the untouched chess board which he was currently winning. “I’m just saying, it’s a right waste of good robes if you just kept them in the chest.”

“Sirius—”

“I know. It’s made of camphor.” Sirius shook his head. “I’m not saying I have anything against your camphor chest, I’m just saying those robes look better _on you_ than _in there_.”

“Those robes,” Remus began and he didn’t bother concealing his amusement from his face, “would look better on a special occasion.” Sirius snorted. “Thank you, Sirius. They were a very thoughtful Christmas present.”

“Nice and prompt but useless.” Sirius frowned. “The point of me giving them early was for you to use them immediately. That is, while you’re still alive to appreciate them. Some of your clothes are so threadbare, I could see your soul through them.”

Remus choked on his Butterbeer. 

“And I know how much you like the comfort of old clothes, how soft they’ve become with age and use but I think it’s become a bit counter-productive to go to sleep in them, mate.” Sirius pulled from his bottle. “You never thought about this while you’re all curled up like an overgrown baby?”

“How do you know that?”

Caught practically red-handed, Sirius’ bottle froze in mid-air and his eyes went as wide as saucers. Remus looked on curiously at him, his old amusement replaced by honest surprise but he would not play the role of the dense virgin in this conversation. 

“You’ve been watching me sleep,” was the only sensible conclusion Remus could come up with. That sounded much creepier than he intended, though. 

Sirius took another gulp, frowned deeply and flung his bottle sideways when he shrugged dramatically. “You kept leaving your windows open that I started to make sure they were shut every night! You hadn’t enchanted them to mind themselves once you started snoring.”

Well, that was true. Remus would always be surprised and pleased that his yester-self had the mindset to shut the window before he went to bed. Apparently, he’d been patting his back for a good deed that wasn’t his. Instead of thanking Sirius, though, he said, “I don’t snore.”

“Oh yes. You purr. How could I ever forget?” Sirius said, referring to an old joke. “And come off it, Moony, I’ve seen you sprawled to kingdom come without a shred of shame and a single thread to cover you, more times than I can count. We aren’t innocent boys with enough pent up frustration to power the entire Wizarding Community anymore. Although we were never innocent,” he hastily added. “This is hardly one of those times, Remus.”

Sirius was right. Those were times when he would wake up to an equally barenaked Sirius leaving trails of small kisses all over his flesh until Remus directed his head to where he wanted Sirius’ mouth to be. Or when he would have cooed to the wizard that if he wanted him warm, he should have come on over his bed. He would have been readily available.

 _Readily available_. Merlin, who’d ever heard of a man in his 30s saying that! 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sirius interrupted his spiraling thoughts pointedly, short of clearing his throat. For his part, he’d buried his nose behind a day-old puzzle. Remus had taken to binding all the crosswords he’d finished to a single book like a proud parent to poke fun on him. He still kept up the habit because it riled Sirius. “You done with Harry’s penknife yet?”

Remus extended it past his wrapping into which he burrowed himself deeply after. “It’s a good knife. I was just thinking that James would have loved something like that.”

“Yeah, well, since I can’t give it to my best mate anymore, I might as well give it to his son.” Sirius stowed the knife away, sighing. “These are the times you miss them the most.”

Remus looked up from his bottle. “Christmas?”

Sirius nodded, downing a mouthful of Butterbeer. “I don’t remember what I did last year, so this is my first shot at celebrating the holidays after thirteen years. Do you still remember our last Christmas together?”

Remus smiled. “How could I? We spent it at the Potters’ place.”

“Never seen a house look as festive as Hogwarts as Lily and James’ place.”

“That round table laden with food.”

“Aunt Euphemia’s tikka masala, passed down from generation to generation.”

“Lily’s Christmas ham!”

“You’d like that,” Sirius croaked quietly, a lazy smirk dancing on his face.

“I only wish we could put together the same feast again, even just for the two of us,” Remus sighed, his smile turning sadder. Sirius shifted and went back to his crossword game, frowning. “But circumstances…well, they’re never quite as generous as the Potters were.”

“Mhm,” Sirius intoned, staring very closely at his paper pressed against his raised knee.

It was not the kind of reaction Remus expected from his friend, who came alive at the prospect of a party or a challenge, but he left him to it. If the man really was absorbed by his crossword puzzle—a challenge—then he was. He regarded his bottle of Butterbeer instead, half-finished.

“Well, there must be something we can do between the two of us,” Remus said all of a sudden, his tone light. “It’s our first Christmas together. Perhaps it won’t be as grand…and as happy as when we were all complete…but there ought to be something we can work on together…perhaps a nugget of the past. Just for old time’s sake.” But whatever that was, even he didn’t know where to start looking. A feast, in every definition of the word, was out of the question, and so was pub hopping unless Sirius was ready to come as a dog. Which he doubted he was as the man liked to drink as much as the wizard next door. That left only two things to choose from, then: cheesy dates.

Or holiday sex.

A silly tradition, if one could even call it that, that didn’t even make sense except that they could make it happen so they did. They were young and wild and free, after all. They used to play little games with each other in the past—truth or dare, never have I ever, a “stripping” game where one replaced a shot of whiskey with the removal of a piece of clothing instead. Somehow, the point of all the games was always to end up naked and ready to go. Sirius used to like to get creative with these things.

Except Remus didn’t think Sirius would be hiding a gift in his pants this season and making Remus get it using only his mouth. He knew for sure _he_ wouldn’t be up for that either, not even for cheesy dates.

So it was to be another quiet night at home together, again. Maybe just slightly more luxurious this time around. It was Christmas, after all.

The first Christmas he was going to spend with a loved one in a while.

“Sirius,” he began in a quiet voice, “about…the two of us…”

Sirius sniffled. “Uh, what? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Remus stopped dead. Did he just…

He thought he did but thought _maybe_ that he didn’t. But just to be safe, he inched forward carefully…because he may look old but his ears were _definitely_ not old. “Sirius, are you crying?” he whispered.

“Crying, he says!” Sirius exclaimed and laughed in great barks, startling Remus and pushing him back. “For no reason? Come on, mate, I’m not some sap—” He sniffled again, hiding swiftly behind the Prophet. “It’s, it’s just you’re bloody fireplace. Merlin, don’t you get allergic with that thing?”

“Sirius, it’s just a fireplace. You aren’t allergic to fireplaces…” Remus was confused by what he was seeing.

“It’s the fireplace, mate, that’s what I’m telling you,” Sirius insisted in a strange voice. From the other side of the paper obscuring his face, Remus frowned. “Hey, okay, listen to this,” he spoke in a loud voice, “What’s a six-letter word that means ‘ _I should have_ ’? It has an E and an R in the middle.”

“An E and an R,” Remus muttered. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. “Regret.”

“Huh, what?” Sirius looked up from his game, eyes wide…and appearing absolutely shaken. “W, what was that, mate? I, I didn’t quite…”

“Regret,” he said again more slowly. “It has an E and an R in the middle. It’s when you say…I should have locked the door. I should have…” _Oh dear_ , he thought.

“Uh? Oh, that’s…oi, Remus, you got it!” Sirius hid his face again, but his quill didn’t move. “That’s…that’s right, it’s regret…”

Regret. The same villain Sirius had been battling for the last thirteen years. And Christmas was such a perfect time to remember it. Remember their dead friends, their old life…what would have been and what could have been…

He rose carefully, barely making a sound. His bottle of beer made it back to the coffee table while he dragged the blanket with him across the floor, towards Sirius. By now, the man couldn’t even hide his shaking shoulders. He struggled to breathe past his choking sobs.

Remus bent over behind him and surrounded him with his arms and the blanket. Sirius’ hands went up to cling to his wrists, hanging on to his friend when he started to sag under the weight of his tears. When was the last time he allowed himself to cry for his friends, Remus wondered. Or was this the very first time?

“I know,” he whispered between Sirius’ gasps. “I miss them, too.”

_**January ‘95** _

“We have to go and see them,” Sirius had told Remus that night he cried.

They were sat across each other again on the couch, as if nothing had happened.

“You have to take me to Godric’s Hollow,” Sirius went on.

Remus didn’t even think about dissuading him. He’d only nodded. “When do you want to go?”

“Christmas.”

“Christmas.” More nodding. “All right, we’ll go when it’s past midnight. You’ll turn yourself into a dog, and I’ll Apparate the both of us.”

“Just one more thing,” Sirius added hastily. “I want to see them in person.”

“In per…Sirius, you can’t!”

“Don’t stop me, Remus.” Sirius had threatened him with a growl. “I’m not going there just to grovel, I need to speak.”

“You’re an escaped felon, Sirius, you will be sent to the Dementors the moment they lay eyes on you!”

“Then you either help me see James and Lily, or you can say goodbye to me and pray that the Dementors make quick work of me.”

What choice did Remus have? If one could even call it that.

He’d conceded eventually, but left a condition: “We’re going to do it _my way_. And if you think you can pull a fast one on me, just try and beat me to my wand.”

The days that followed the conversation had been slow and tensed. Not even Christmas had been spared after Sirius drunk himself to an inch of his life and woke up with a thousand and one aches. Remus felt disappointed that this was how their first Christmas together went, but it was just one of those things he knew he’d have to live with.

But Fate was kinder to him come the new year; even as the pubs around town were bursting at the seams, Sirius never went near a single bottle, choosing to pace the cottage up and down, wringing his hands, going over the plan repeatedly under his breath. Remus worried for his friend who hadn’t eaten much at all in his anticipation but said nothing. 

Past midnight the first day, Remus Apparated them both into Godric’s Hollow.

The air was brisk and frigid, the white of thick Christmas snow still covering everything as far as the eye could see. Remus had practically forgotten how to breathe and would have also forgotten that he had to walk if it wasn’t for the big, black dog yanking on his leash. “All right, all right! Hold still,” he muttered impatiently.

He inspected their perimeter, pushed down his hat, shifted the coat slung over his left arm and twisted the leash around his right. “Right, let’s go,” he hissed. “Keep ahead of me, I’ll signal when we have to turn.”

Remus was just relieved that this was the first time Sirius had laid foot in Godric’s Hollow in more than a decade, they would never be able to perfect the man-walking-his-suspiciously-large-dog act, otherwise. He was also choosing to see the empty streets as a good sign towards their midnight excursion although that was obviously the point of them taking off at an awkward date and time, when there would be less chances to be spotted by merry-goers. Remus was careful to let the leash sag, pulling softly only when they had to change directions. Sirius followed like the obedient dog that he played. 

Until the cemetery came into sight. Without waiting for his pretend master, Sirius bounded forward, freeing himself from Remus’ grasp to dart past sleeping grave stones in search of his friends. 

“Shit! Sir…Padfoot!” Wand out, Remus gave chase.

He followed the trail of heavy paw prints on the snow. He couldn’t say he was glad for the obvious marks as they made it that much easier for potentially well-meaning citizens to ruin everything for them, too. Frightened of the ruckus they were making, he kept a constant eye over his shoulder, as though that would discourage him from being followed. 

It took all of Remus not to yank the leash and forget the dog was a wizard when he finally caught up with him. “Really, Sirius?” he snarled under his breath, falling to a knee to start working on the very collar he’d just been tempted to grab. For once, at least, the dog was very still, his attention absorbed by whatever stood in front of him.

He turned to the plain white gravestone that seemed to glow with its own light, his own fingers slowing down. “Yes, Padfoot, this is them,” he said, suddenly gentle. Remus set the collar down, then flung the oversized coat he brought on his left arm over the canine’s bulk. “James, Lily, look who’s finally come.”

Beneath the visitor, the snow made a crunching sound as a set of human toes peeked out from under the train. The fabric appeared to breathe when the shoulders expanded, and then from under its neck, Sirius pulled up his head and shook his long black hair free. 

He kept a hand on the lapel and sat on his knees. Remus rose, looking around the lot. “I can’t believe it,” he said, his voice hoarse. Sirius stayed huddled beneath the great coat while he reached up to trace the names engraved on the stone. “It’s really them.”

Remus looked down to the curled figure near his feet. “It is,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you know the rules. Fifteen minutes and we are out of here, whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” Sirius assured him, though he kept his eyes on the tombstone of his friends’, his fingers on their names. “I won’t take much longer…I just want to say sorry, James and Lily. It’s because of me that you were both killed. If I’d taken the secret with me to the grave, you two would still be alive. And Harry would have been living with you and he’d be that much happier.” He broke off to sigh and sniff. 

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to find you both!” With another sniffle, he wiped his eyes. “Thirteen _years_ ,” he gasped. 

By then, Remus had forgotten that he was meant to be looking out for passers-by or stalkers who might have come to notice them. His attention had been drawn entirely to Sirius’ presence. When Sirius made his apologies, he strained to hear not errant footsteps but every word of it. 

Quietly, he reminded him, “Sirius, you were in Azkaban, then!”

“Yeah, and I escaped,” Sirius boasted to the marker, his familiar ego laughing at the base of his throat. “Which is a lot more than you can say for yourself. Eh, James?”

“Sirius, please stop pushing the dead.”

“The worst detention of your life, you wouldn’t even be able to imagine it,” Sirius began to chuckle but became quiet just as soon. Remus nearly fell to check on him until he mumbled, “Well, not anymore…”

The silence was deafening, the whistle of the moving wind too sharp in the absence of a witty retort from their old friend. 

“I’m sorry, James,” Sirius moaned, reaching to feel the shape of his carved letters again. “That was a bad joke. Lily, I’m sorry, please don’t haunt me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

That was how the rest of the time he had left went: in endless apologies. He kissed their names and recited his sorries. He kissed the ground in which they were buried and whispered his prayers for forgiveness, grabbing clumps of dirt as if for souvenirs, as if the ground wasn’t freezing his balls off, the tears on his face.

Remus was loath to do it, but he stepped in soon after. He reached down to place a tender hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “I’m sorry but we have to go,” he whispered kindly.

“Just five more minutes please,” Sirius moaned.

Remus was afraid of this but when it came, he was still surprised that he was surprised. He tried his best not to blanch. He folded himself back to Sirius’ side. “Sirius,” he hissed but he could not remember how to be impatient and cross, just scared. “This doesn’t have to be the last. We will come back but until then, I have to keep you safe. _You_ have to keep yourself safe. Safe enough to see them again on better days! You have to take Harry to see his mum and dad.”

“But thirteen years, Remus,” Sirius choked, finally turning up to meet him behind a black curtain. He looked so pale and thin under the shadows of his coat and his grief, as if he’d just come from Azkaban again. His gray eyes had somehow looked faded, as if the tears had washed the colors off his irises. “I owe them a debt, I can’t leave them so soon in this cold ground!”

If he could, Sirius would dig up the bodies of their friends and carry them back with them, he knew this. Remus realized that this was the grief of a man who’d been robbed of his right to say goodbye to them.

He brushed away the locks that fell over Sirius’ face, and tilted his head up just so he could kiss his eye. The man shuddered but Remus cupped him by his jaw and looked at him from under their meeting foreheads.

“Don’t say goodbye to them,” Remus whispered gently. “This won’t be the last time. We _will_ see them again, very soon!” He felt not unlike he was speaking with a child. _An overgrown child_ , he could almost hear Lily Potter muttering hurriedly to his ear before she skipped out of Sirius’ line of sight, just before he demanded, _Come again, Evans!_ even though she would already be married then. Lily _always_ seemed to be skipping even when she was heavy with child, much to the distress of her husband and his friends.

“James and Lily would understand,” Remus tried again, barely keeping his desperation in check. “Lily would be practically sweeping you out the door and threatening to beat her husband with her broom if he kept you!” Because James and Sirius would be hugging each other like long lost lovers and bawling in voices worthy of a noontime drama. “You can’t tell me you’d forgotten how the Potters were.” The hope was that such a treasured memory would serve to break through Sirius’ sorrow. 

And it did; he felt Sirius’ muscles relax. The moment he nodded, Remus pulled him up to his feet, gathering the dog leash and his wand before he wrapped his friend in a fierce embrace. 

“In better days then, James, Lily,” Remus promised their grave while Sirius secured his arms around him. Without waiting for much longer, they Disapparated. 

Remus was surprised that it was still dark when they spun back to existence in his cottage. The air was suddenly too warm although it smelled of rain. Buckbeak gave a sound of surprise. He left Sirius to throw up what little he ate for dinner on the carpet while he hurried out the backdoor to reassure the hippogriff that all was as it should be. When he went back in, Sirius was already sprawled across the couch. 

He tucked him back in his bed, then cleaned his carpet and swept the whole house for any unlocked doors or open windows. The hat he brought along never made it back with them. He realized he must have lost it when he chased Padfoot to the Potters’ grave and that set his alarm bells off. Nothing seemed amiss, though.

That was the only time he allowed himself to rest for the night. 

When he woke up, he wondered if it was all just a dream. Daylight had a way of banishing the past, both the bad and the good. A quick inspection of his room showed him that everything was where they ought to be. His writing desk was clear, the chair in its proper place, his books flush and neat in their shelves. The window was open, but that could mean anything.

It was when he started down on his stairwell that he saw the dog leash on the coffee table, and realized that Sirius hadn’t made breakfast yet.

“Sirius,” he suddenly remembered, padding back up the steps, as quietly as he could.

He’d left the door open in his haste to check the house. Sirius was still fast asleep, covered only by a blanket after the oversized coat had been relegated to the floor. Remus considered leaving a tonic next to his cot in case he should wake up with a headache.

But he found himself crouching by his bedside later, pulling up the sheet to his shoulders and stroking the splayed locks off his sleeping face. Sirius was still snoring. He wasn’t going to wake up any time soon.

 _It’s all the past_ , he realized suddenly. _There’s nothing for us in the present, anymore._ Sirius never tried to kiss him again after the birthday cake. In his surprise and delight, he’d simply been driven by the habit of it. What was more important to him now was to make amends for the mistakes of the past. To be forgiven for his imagined slights.

And he…he simply missed the past. And here, Remus thought he had done a spectacular job of living independently of it. Who knew that between him and his friend, he was the one who needed help? 

He shut the door on his way out, and went down the kitchen to start an early lunch.

When next he heard from his friend again, he was surprised to see that two hours had passed.

“Remus?” came the distant call overhead.

Remus was just putting away the skillet from the fire. “All right, mate?” he called back.

“Where are you?”

“I’m—” He was downstairs, but stopped himself midway. Remus didn’t think this conversation was going to finish itself this way, not when Sirius had asked him where he was, even though it was obvious. “I’ll come right up,” he said instead. Taking his wand, he started to fill up a cup with tea.

Sirius was up when he arrived, dressed in the coat from last night, his blanket over his legs. His head turned with a snap. Remus thought he looked a little relieved. “Oh there you are,” he said. 

Remus sat down on the floor facing him. He handed the cup to Sirius. “I was downstairs, putting together brunch. Take it slowly, I tipped a bit of Pepper-up in there. I thought you might be cold from last night.”

“Cheers.” Sirius raised his cup and sipped carefully. He screwed up his face at the after effect.

“Hit the spot?”

“You could say that,” Sirius groaned. He took another sip, then put the tea down next to him. He cleared his throat and sniffled. “I dreamt about them, Remus.”

“James and Lily?” Remus smiled. “What were they doing?”

“We were celebrating Christmas in their house. And then James and Lily told me we were late and Harry was waiting for us. So I went out to the front porch with them to look at their grave. Harry was there. And then I think we went flying and suddenly we were in a Quidditch match, passing the snitch between each other.”

“That is at once morbid and bizarre.”

“That’s dreams for you,” Sirius said, smirking. Remus was glad to see it again. He glanced down to his hands, smudged in dirt. “Remus, I never got to thank you for your help. And I don’t think I’ll ever know how to repay you either.”

“ _Repay me_? Come now, Padfoot!” Remus gave a surprised laugh. “What are friends for?” Padfoot put on a wry smile for him. “If we’re counting debts now, then you ought to be waiting for change.” He shook his head. “I was happy to do it.”

“No, you weren’t,” Sirius snorted. “You were reluctant to do it.”

“I think you need to remind yourself of a couple of pranks we did in the past. Particularly the parts where I refuse to…acquiesce to your brilliance.” Remus’ smile widened when Sirius started snickering. “Perhaps next time, just don’t run off like that. You gave me quite a fright.”

“Padfoot too fast for the old man?”

“I hope you never get your wand back, Sirius.”

Sirius laughed, his voice bouncing hard against the walls.

That was it, the spell that broke the curse. Sirius returned to his giddy old self, moving around the house like a child permanently connected to a bag of sweets although his mood was tested by an equally moody Buckbeak who’d felt ignored by his master when he tried to feed him. Dinner became a joint project between the two wizards, by his insistence, and after desserts, Sirius refused to leave Remus alone by constantly poking at his book with his big toe. Remus wondered if he was making up for his sullen days for which he was glad but suddenly, he thought he actually missed them.

He didn’t, of course. That would have been a lie. He wouldn’t have traded an hour’s peaceful reading to Padfoot slipping between him and the door and ambling to the open window of his bedroom to pull it shut with his paws. Remus began to protest in his surprise, but the dog ignored him in favor of exploring the room with his nose, and then choosing the spot right next to his bed to curl up and sleep.

Remus exhaled lightly. “So we’re doing this,” he said to no one in particular, still a little stunned by his friend’s actions. A part of him actually wondered if he ought to send him down the living room simply because telling Sirius _no_ was an essential part of their friendship…but would he really? Assuming he _could_ , at all. There was no reason for such needless headache, though. 

“All right,” he conceded, shutting the door behind him and locking it. “You can sleep with me tonight.” Padfoot raised his neck and wagged his tail. “But don’t blame me if I get up and step on your tail, I’ve not slept with a dog in the same room in ages.”

That would be the first in a long time. And just the first for a long time to come yet.

_**February ‘95** _

“Come to think of it, this is the first date we’ve had in a while. Shame we’re a day late from Valentine’s…”

“A date,” Remus laughed weakly. “A date where we completely skipped the dinner part and went straight to the naked part.”

“ _Or_ a date where we decided to twist things up a little! Naked first, dinner later.”

“No, Sirius,” Remus moaned, visibly shuddering. “I do not want to eat anything tonight, please.” He hadn’t been eating much in the last few days that led up to their current naked state, though. “Do me a favor and keep me away from anything that remotely looks like food to me.”

“How’s about a nice, tender, juicy deer?”

“Sirius, if I wake up tomorrow and find out I’d slaughtered a deer for dinner, I am going to personally slaughter you come the next full moon.”

Which was exactly why they were lying naked on an old blanket, covered up by even more blankets to ward off the cold that came with the season and the forest. This was their monthly ritual—an appropriately peculiar method of celebrating the full moon but they were down from four to two and Sirius needed all the advantage he could get to control a raging werewolf.

Sirius was laughing at Remus’ threat, arms crossed behind his head, while Remus burrowed deeper into his cover, seeking warmth and comfort which his emaciated form could no longer provide. “I’m just imagining you shifting in the middle of devouring a deer,” Sirius continued, “and _gagging_ —”

“Sirius, _don’t_ ,” Remus groaned, nose buried in the warmth. He sounded exactly like the sick man he was that moment: about to be sick. He felt his stomach give another lurch for food, apparently enticed by raw venison, but even just the thought of the sweet porridge Sirius had been patiently feeding him was enough to get his bile up. In the past, he used to force himself to put down more food than he was hungry for but that only made things worse. He would have been happy to refuse food completely if he wasn’t so weak and Sirius wasn’t suddenly so reasonable. 

“Oi, remember the time you got piss-drunk on a full moon night because we wanted to,” Sirius cleared his throat, “explore the effects of inebriants on a full-grown lycanthrope? Or simply put we wanted to see you shit-faced when you turn!” he cracked.

“Not one of my finest moments,” Remus mumbled, except that had been one of the few crazy plots that saw his willing participation. Theoretically, it made sense, after all: a drunk was only a threat to humans when they were themselves capable of human thoughts and actions at the time of inebriation. But a werewolf required full faculties of its predatory instincts and if they could dull _that_ … 

Remus started giggling, wrapping his arms over his growling stomach, as if he _had_ just then gotten inebriated. “We’d stolen in and out of Hogsmeade, our arms and pockets loaded with contraband.”

“We’d gotten _so many_ , Prongs and I had to hide about half of it in the Shack!”

“And I remember you told me that when you got back to Hogwarts, you had the worst luck of running into Madam Pomfrey,” Remus wheezed, breathless from laughing, his stomach hard put to keep up with his glee, “and James was _besides_ himself, making up all sorts of excuses because I was too pissed to pretend I was sober—” he gasped sharply, his shoulders turning rigid.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sirius hissed, all but flying out of his blankets, poised to fling himself to his trembling friend. “Remus, is it…!”

That was the last that he’d seen of him before the pain coursed up from his writhing guts to his head and blinded him. Remus twisted to his back, baring his fangs, eyes shut tight in a losing fight against the weight in his skull. His legs kicked and contorted themselves in hopeless patterns but he couldn’t escape the cold knives digging into his stomach. No matter how tightly he clutched it, or scratched it with his sharpened nails, it would not subside. That was always the start of it; that was the part where he threw up everything he’d ever eaten in an endless round of torture.

When something behind him that felt very much like a bone _snapped_ , the werewolf moaned and rolled to his side again, white and heaving. He couldn’t feel his legs. His throat was strangling him with its twisting muscles. “It’s happening,” he groaned in a changing voice. 

Yellow eyes opened up wide at the staring wizard. “Sirius, it’s happening—gaaahh!!” Another bone popped; he rolled to the other side. 

He heard Sirius step out of his layers of blankets and felt him pull them off his burning flesh. His long, thin arms were still wrapped around his shrunken waist. Soon, they were hidden under a thick mat of light brown fur, exactly the color of his hair. The popping bones came one after the other, and he wanted to cry for every one of them but he could make no sound come through his gaping maw no matter how much he tried to beg Sirius to help him—but he wouldn’t.

On his knees like a marathoner, Sirius watched him closely.

Remus moaned and flung his head down the cold earth. When next he breathed again, a snarl rolled out of his narrow mouth. His arms and legs snapped themselves out of angle and he threw back his head to howl in pain. 

When the werewolf opened his eyes again, a big, black dog pounced on him, ready to play.

That was one of the last things he remembered waking up, and so was falling down the snow and watching Sirius wrap him in a blanket and heave him up his arms. He smelled of the forest, the earth and fresh spring, and just under it all, he caught a whiff of his body heat and his sweat.

Remus hoped Sirius wouldn’t notice him stirring between his legs—but he forgot all about it when that very same man for whom his desire came alive pressed a wet towel on his cheek. Remus growled and tried to shake himself free of the offensive object. 

“Hold still!” Sirius snarled, holding him down by his better shoulder. He stirred again. Damn. “You had an argument with a tree. Guess what won.”

“Depending on my answer, will the ending change?” Remus groaned. “Give me that!” He snatched the cloth.

The rest of their night time escapade came flooding back to him at that moment: the rush of trees, the great heights they leapt, how they tumbled around the fresh snow, the pain exploding on Remus’ cheek and shoulder and Sirius’ dog form bullying him to stay still while he licked his bruises.

Remus gingerly pressed the damp towel on his face. He winced. He figured Sirius must have added some curative element on it or it wouldn’t be stinging so badly. He must have also dispensed a few basic healing spells using his wand, otherwise his face would be as bloated as if he’d been cursed with the poxes. “Thanks,” he conceded grudgingly.

Sirius smirked. “Don’t stop now. You’ll wanna thank me for something else.” Remus’ wand appeared in his hand again. “You hungry?”

“Depends if the food is cooked or not,” Remus grumbled—and he hoped it was. He caught a whiff of something sweet and savory just then and felt his stomach gnaw at him with want. His mouth watered, and he hoped desperately that wherever that scent was coming from, it was coming straight for him—

“ _Bacon!_ ” Remus couldn’t have failed to restrain his excitement more. Suddenly, he was springing back to life, all paleness and bones though he was, and grabbed for the dish floating in the air before it could even finish its track. Two of the crispy strips went straight through his teeth. Remus moaned with pleasure, visibly melting with the maple-coated goodness.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, devouring three, four, five more strips. He secured two more with his fingers before he continued, “I thought we’d run out of bacon.”

“We did so…” Sirius nodded towards the door. “A good samaritan decided to come and help us out.”

Remus looked at him cluelessly, chewing down his eleventh strip.

He finished the entire plate. Sirius helped him to his robe after, narrowly avoiding certain areas a delirious Remus would have wanted touched. Once the werewolf was decidedly decent, he shuffled out of his bedroom with his friend’s help.

“One step at a time, Remus. Careful…” Remus didn’t normally leave his bedroom after his transformation, especially during the morning after, so Sirius kept his hand firmly around his. His normally light steps were suddenly landing with a clumsy weight, and every one of them seemed to have to go through a series of intense deliberation before Remus made them. If it hadn’t been for Sirius’ help, he was certain he’d have tumbled down the stairwell in a heap of limbs. All that running, all that shoving still throbbed deeply within his bones.

Finally, after a decade and a day had passed, he reached the last step. Remus sighed with relief and looked up to see who the good samaritan was.

Dumbledore looked over to him, past his cup of tea and half-moon spectacles, smiled and waved.

He didn’t know what ought to surprise him more: the presence of the silver-haired visitor in a blue robe, sitting on a red cushioned seat or his dining table, barely recognizable under a constellation of plates, bowls, cups and the stuff in-between. More bacon waited for him near his usual seat—his stomach made another sound—but there were also sausages, pies, crumpets and because this was Dumbledore, cakes.

“How did…” That was always the start of the question; the rest of it was not important. He followed Sirius’ motions in something of a daze, and then suddenly his friend was ordering him to sit down. “How did you get in?” he tried again. “I hadn’t heard you at all.” And Remus was sharp. It would have taken more than a late night out to slip right under his nose, in his own house at that.

“I thought it best to save you and Sirius the trouble of fussing over me,” the old man explained, putting down his cup of tea. “I’d assumed that you both had been out all night. Sirius was very, I suppose you can say…dogged in letting you sleep for a little longer.”

Sirius choked on his tea. Remus snickered at the pun.

“That said, I took the liberties of arranging breakfast for you,” Dumbledore went on, presenting the feast laid between them with a flourish. “Again, because I’d assumed you’d be tired from last night.”

“I caught him making the tea when I went down, I was going to fix your breakfast,” Sirius shared, reaching for a crumpet. “Lucky for me, I slept in.”

“Tea, Remus?”

“Please,” Remus accepted Dumbledore’s offer, waiting for the pot to fill the cup next to him. “I don’t suppose you simply wanted to check on us, do you, Sir?”

“That will be one,” Dumbledore ceded kindly. He paused to take a sip. “The second reason is that I knew you would be wanting of breakfast so I timed my visit after the full moon. The third reason,” he put down his cup, “is Harry Potter.”

Both Remus and Sirius looked up from their food, stopping mid-bite.

“Did something happen to him?” Remus sputtered.

“Was he attacked at Hogwarts?” Sirius growled.

“No,” Dumbledore said. “And I mean to keep that so. You are both, I think,” he looked at each of them in turn, “aware of some of the events happening at Hogwarts?”

Both friends exchanged looks. Harry had been sending letters to Sirius which he shared to Remus. “The Second Task at the Triwizard Tournament is this month, isn’t it?” Remus prompted, turning back to Dumbledore.

“The one with the egg. Which reminds me,” Sirius faced his former headmaster again, “what came of Crouch’s search of Snape’s office?”

“So far, the hypothesis still remains that he was looking for evidence towards Severus’ ties with the dark wizards.” In spite of the unsavory conversation, Dumbledore spoke calmly while he summoned two crumpets and the maple syrup towards his empty plate. A bacon followed soon after—one that Remus had been about to take. Remus looked relieved that he was a second too slow for that. “Whoever summoned the Dark Mark in the Quidditch World Cup is still at large.”

“If that’s the case, why is Crouch concentrating all his efforts on Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, audibly displeased. “Whoever did that stole Harry’s wand to make the summon but he hasn’t told me any similar incidents towards him yet since he started this year.”

“Is it possible that your godson’s letters don’t contain the whole truth?” came Remus’ question while Sirius reached for a sausage with his bare fingers.

“Maybe,” Sirius considered after a moment of thoughtful chewing. “But he’s also only 14,” he reminded his friend, looking to him. “How smart do you think a 14-year old could get?”

“I don’t know, he’s James’ son,” Remus said shrugging.

“Okay, but James knew what he was doing at 14. _Arguably_ , that is.” Sirius finished his sausage and took a strip of bacon next. “And the last time Harry tried to dupe me, he might have made his own dad cry because it was terrible.”

Remus’ cup of tea was raised to his lips but he put it down to ask Dumbledore a question. “Any news on Jorkins or Moody’s attacker yet?”

“Even that, I am afraid, is as foggy as Sybill’s crystal ball,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. Sirius snorted painfully at the jab. “Too much is simply uncertain these days, too much. And much more is at stake. I fear that we might not be seeing the last of them yet, and Harry is caught in the middle.” He set down his cutlery. 

“Which brings me to my fourth purpose for coming,” the great old wizard continued, turning to Sirius, “and that is to personally ask you, Sirius, to move your hiding place.”

Confused, Remus processed this request quickly while Sirius was still studying Dumbledore’s calm expression. Sirius definitely could not transport Remus’ cottage to a more convenient location, even if he had a wand to try it. That meant that Sirius would have to do the moving himself, somewhere within reach of Harry. 

Remus whirled to his half-shocked friend with the conclusion: “You have to go to Harry.”

“There is a small cave in a mountainside near Hogsmeade that is available for your use,” Dumbledore expounded finally after Remus caught the hint. “You should be safe there. It’s safer than it is in the Shrieking Shack, if you are considering a change of accommodations.”

“Does Harry know?” Sirius asked, breakfast forgotten.

“I think it better to let you take care of that matter, Sirius.” Dumbledore picked up his wares again and sliced up his crumpet. “You are the best judge of how you must show yourself, and Harry is your godson. I entrust him to you.” He finished his crumpets and looked around the table. “Would anyone mind if I took the strawberry shortcake?”

No one minded if he took the strawberry shortcake. Slowly, the tinks and clinks of an idyllic lazy morning returned to the table. Moody’s business came to be a part of it, as well, and so did Ludovic Bagman and Igor Karkaroff. After breakfast, the dishes collected themselves to be washed and kept. 

“It was good to see you, Remus. You can be sure I will be in touch again.What time does the bakeshop near the bank open?”

“Uh—” Remus spun in search of his wall clock. “They ought to be open now.”

“Good! It would be a crime, I believe, to leave this place without dropping by for some local pudding. Sirius,” Dumbledore nodded to him, “I will see you.”

Sirius nodded in return. 

It was strange seeing the old man leave through the front door, whistling a tune. Someone as powerful as that, Remus expected him to Apparate at the very least. He couldn’t imagine how he might cross the hillock to the town either. 

He pushed the door shut in pensive slowness, running through the earlier conversation. So much had already happened, and it was only the morning…

“Remus,” Sirius called him. He turned around. “I have to go.”

“You’ll need a bag,” Remus agreed. In a snap, he hurtled past him, up the stairs, shoving aside the protestations of his overworked legs. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Find me a drawstring bag, nothing too big.” Sirius’ heavy footsteps thundered towards the backdoor. “I need it to fit a dog my size.”

He heard the door creak open and Buckbeak’s caw. While Sirius prepared his mount, Remus worked his way through his chests and boxes until he could summon a bag that could be Transfigured to their purpose. Sirius came up just in time to catch the glorified sack that Remus flung to him. 

“Wouldn’t it be faster if you just Apparated?” Remus passed him on his way to his bedroom. 

“I can’t Apparate, I don’t have a wand!” Sirius’ chest flew open with a loud bang against the wall. “You offering me yours?”

“Beat me in a duel and it’s all yours.” And that was not an easy thing to accomplish, even with a proper wand. While Sirius sorted through his belongings, Remus inspected the foot of his bed, pointed his wand to a thick plank that was slightly discolored and muttered a spell. The panel whipped back to reveal a chasm, and another spell sent a small chest up to the floor next to him.

“I’ll take up that challenge when I get my wand back…what are you doing?”

Sirius caught him on his knees charming the lock free. The top flung back, revealing a collection of bottles and vials neatly arranged by height. 

“You’re starving yourself and freezing to death when you have all that?! How much would that bottle of dittany fetch you?”

“I may die from starvation and hypothermia but at least I won’t die from poison, pox or pulverised bones,” Remus answered him calmly, lifting one potion after the next. “Besides, I have no cauldron and I can’t brew to save my life. These are my meager investments. Here!” He tossed his friend a bottle. “Essence of Dittany, only slightly used.”

Sirius caught it with the reflexes of a man who protected his nose too much.

“And a Skele-gro and a Pepper-up just in case. If you need more, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“I’ll make Harry find a way, he’s the one with an office full of ingredients.”

“ _Snape’s_ the one! Sirius, don’t get your godson in more trouble than he already is,” Remus sighed, shaking his head and smiling while Sirius cackled. So this was how they parted, he realized suddenly. With old jokes and not much more besides. An old sack, some clothes and potions…

“You’ll want some food,” Remus escaped Sirius’ eyes and his own thoughts. He was acting like a teenaged boy, looking wistfully at the man who was leaving soon. But if there was one thing he agreed with a young Remus, it was that they would miss that mean cackle and his booming laughter. 

“Something for you and Buckbeak,” he went on, sprinting down his stairwell. Remus didn’t know when he and Sirius might be speaking in person again so he kept talking. But at the same time, he wanted to cut their goodbye short. It had simply gone on for too long. 

He opened his pantry and was surprised to see it loaded with gifts from Dumbledore but didn’t stop to consider the variety. He grabbed a bit of biscuits, sweets, and other things that might survive a journey. 

Sirius opened up his charmed bag so Remus could tip them all in. “I’ll give these back when we see each other again.”

“Intact, I hope,” Remus said and Sirius laughed at his joke about the food. He looked at his friend for what might be the last time for another long time. “Look after yourself, Sirius. Send me an owl when you can.”

“I will, Remus,” Sirius promised him, finally wearing the bag over his shoulders. He would need both hands to navigate the skies on Buckbeak. He searched his friend’s green eyes. “Thank you,” he said. 

Remus shook his head, smiling. “Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” he said. The only friend he had left who he could truly call his. 

So this was goodbye. 

“Shit.” Remus reached up to the back of Sirius’ neck and drew him close. 

Sirius’ hands went up just then to guide his mouth to his and held him in place before he could move away. All that talk about the past, about mistaking affections for nostalgia went out the window the moment Remus felt Sirius’ lips and his breath trembling with excitement and he knew it was because of him. There was nothing generous, or kind or gentle with their kiss. They did it again and again, increasingly frustrated by every single one that ended. They were both greedy and hungry, jealous when the other pulled back for breath. Remus tried to shake off Sirius’ hands on his jaw for better mobility but he was right where he was wanted. Sirius refused let him go so easily, not when they still had so many years to make up for. 

And when finally they tired, and their lips were bruised and tender, they stopped to catch up with their racing hearts, but lingered for the other’s heat and scent. Sirius still tasted of breakfast. Somehow, whenever he kissed the man’s mouth, Remus always caught a hint of food and it was just as he remembered it. 

So this was love. 

“What took you so long?” Sirius growled. 

“I had to be sufficiently scared that I wouldn’t see you again,” Remus exhaled, still staring at Sirius’ lips. They were not too far that their noses no longer touched. 

“Azkaban not good enough for you?” There was that wry smile again. 

“Not smart enough,” Remus said to those gray eyes, watching him closely. “Me,” he clarified. 

When Sirius kissed him again, this time it was softer, sweeter. Remus remembered their long, lazy nights at Hogwarts, where they had nothing better to do than to be with each other. _If only that were so_ , he said when he kissed him back with just as much longing.

Sirius snarled softly while Remus nipped him lightly under his lips. “You’re making me miss you.”

“Just now?” Remus mumbled. “Azkaban not good enough for you?” Sirius barked out a laugh. Remus grinned. 

Sirius kissed him one more time before he linked their fingers and pulled Remus with him to the stable. Somehow, they agreed that if they ever kissed again, Harry would have to wait one more day for his godfather. 

“When you write to me, call me Yorkshire.”

“Too obvious,” Sirius said as he prepared to mount the hippogriff, disapproving Remus’ suggestion with a shaking head. “We can’t trust the times.” His brows came together for some hurried thinking. “I’ll call you Pudding.”

“Pudding!” Remus gaped. “Sirius, we aren’t boys anymore!”

“Yorkshire pudding, I don’t know! I have to go.” Sirius swung his leg over Buckbeak who tested his weight. He made a sound and with a yank, set both of them on a path to the forest.

“Look after yourself!” Remus hurried after them. 

“And you. I’ll see you!” Sirius raised his hand to wave just as Buckbeak cried and spread his wings wide, kicking the ground beneath them. He might have shouted something but the air had swallowed it whole.

Remus stopped slowly when the pair of them took flight, standing guard just in case their shrinking silhouette reversed and flew back to him. He stayed out until they’d disappeared into the clouds. He looked at his empty wrist and then back at his house. He would give them five more minutes to come back, just in case maybe there was something they forgot.

_**March-May ‘95** _

_The days pass slowly, and I don’t remember anymore how I went through the motions before you came. Sometimes I think I see your shadow on the doorway or hear your singing in the kitchen, but we both know how tricky memories could be, don’t we?_

_I left your room as you left it—there didn’t seem much sense for me to put it back the way we found it. Even the mismatched chairs in the dining table don’t make sense anymore, but I still eat facing yours._

_I could go on and on about the things that are wrong in your absence, but I’ll not waste parchment and ink just to stroke your ego. I will admit one thing, though:_

_The walls are dead without your laughter—and I think that is what I miss the most._

He could practically hear that very same laughter when he read Sirius’ response a few days later: _Are you reading one of Aunt Euphemia’s romance novels again?_ That happened one Christmas with the Potters, before James and Lily were married, when Remus slipped a pocketbook from her shelf to his robe on his way to Sirius’ guest room. In the end, he couldn’t finish reading it to him because Sirius kept nibbling at his ears and neck and stealing kisses and touching him in inappropriate places. 

_Dare I go on?_ Remus asked. 

_Humour me_ , Sirius said. 

_Roses are red,_  
Violets are blue,  
My queen just captured your rook. 

Sirius must have stared at his letter for a long time because his answer didn’t come until a week later:

_You’re on._

Little by little, Remus remembered how he managed on his own though certain parts of it had changed since the last time he tried. He kept his subscription with the Daily and the Evening Prophets ( _“Harry made it through the Second Task!” “Yes! I saw it in the Prophet.”_ ) and picked up the habit of saving the pages with the crossword puzzles and leaving them in Sirius’ bedroom. _Where they will one day catch fire and finally burn down the cottage_ , he wrote to him once.

He celebrated his birthday, too, in a somewhat more exciting manner than he was used to. The owl came while he was preparing his lunch and welcomed herself to the crust of his pie while he took the red box and its letter with him to the living room.

 _Euphemia,_ (They were fast running out of codenames, again.)

_Happy birthday! Are you proud of me that I didn’t forget? Wish I was there to celebrate it with you, but I hope today you’ll be happy, and safe, and that this owl will make it on time._

_May this gift be a sign of my undying love to you. It’s the best **tribute** I can fetch as a **dog**. Open it **very carefully**._

_X  
Fleamont_

The emphasized letters were enough to warn Remus that the gift would not be of a kind that he expected. At all. He did as Sirius instructed, peeling the top of the hand-sized package slowly and carefully. He peeked when he thought there was enough room to see through…

And then he sighed, and set the lid next to his gift. The inside of the box was loaded with crushed herbs and lavender—and lying on it was a veritable dead rat. If he didn’t know his friend at all, he might have been severely disturbed and offended by his idea of a birthday present.

 _P.S._ read the tag strung around the rat’s neck, _Please don’t hate me._

_P.P.S. I have a black humour._  
P.P.P.S. Get it?  
P.P.P.P.S. I’ll make it up to you when we meet again. 

A few days later, his old chest of past memorabilia suddenly came back to life, for the first time since he buried it literally at the back of his house. He’d done it both as a symbolic gesture of letting the past sleep forever, and simply to forget about the hurt that came with it because he could not have the heart to destroy the chest. And now, he was glad that he didn’t.

He’d always been a packrat since he was young; he kept anything that had the potential of being even remotely useful in the future, and anything that had the potential of never being found again, or availed by his restricted resources. And many of them existed in the old-fashioned chest, all of them presents from his three best friends: a quill with a unique feather, a genuine magic 8-ball that was now perpetually stuck to _Don’t bet on it_. He also found a parchment that plotted out the lunar calendar and still worked, a limited edition set of gobstones that, unfortunately, still worked in a broken fashion ( _“You will be pleased to know that since my robe was stained permanently by the gobstone, I had to throw it away. Yes, it’s one of the old ones.”_ ) and a spray bottle of sorts that had long since dried up—although the bottle was still nice.

He took the old pictures with him to look at when idle. He had one of James in his Quidditch robe waving with the snitch and his broom, James showing off his Head Boy badge. And he had so many of him and his friends in twos, threes, all four of them. One of his most precious of those was one taken in their very own dorm room, on the first Friday night of their last year. They’d piled up in front of Sirius’ bed, set the camera on automatic and Remus let it float far and high enough to fit them all in the film. It caught James and Sirius just as they were dropping from what would have been a spectacular jump if they’d just waited a little longer. He was laughing at them, hard put to look nice for the photo and keep the camera steady when his wand shook with his glee. 

Peter was shooting confetti off his sleeves. He was particularly proud of that party trick, Remus remembered. 

It was strange looking at his pictures now. In the past, he had been driven to tears because he missed him—now he didn’t know if the pain of the heartbreak was worth it. Or who the boy in the picture was, who squeezed his eyes shut and twitched a pair of palm-sized rat ears that had sprouted from his blond head. James was in the background, screaming, and so was he, gaping widely, his hands on his hair.

He buried those pictures again, in a separate box, like a casket. 

_Anyway_ , he told Sirius in a long letter, _it’s not all bad memories and heartache. Look at what I found. It might even remove the bad taste Crouch and Karkaroff left in your mouth. May you never speak about them to spelunking teenagers again. Don’t worry about destroying it when you have to, I have the original._

It was another one of his best loved treasures, although in the past, he’d almost burned it in his anger and grief. It was taken by mischievous friends in the Hogwarts Express en route home for the summer. He was sat by the window which was a place of honor reserved to him by his friends, head tilted towards the speeding background. And on his shoulder was Sirius Black, his dark hair fallen across his face, long legs stretched out. They were both asleep with their fingers linked loosely.

 _Do you remember this picture?_ Sirius wrote back. _J took it_ , he said, although Remus remembered that James had also said that Peter had moved out of the way and pointed out the scene to James who took it. _I asked to keep the original. You duplicated it from there. That’s the one you have. The real original was in my flat. Or used to be. I’m sure they’d turned it over now and scrubbed it clean, looking for incriminating evidence on you-know-what._

_I’ll keep this safe. I’ll sleep next to it. Thank you._

_By the way, F3 to D4._

_You are going to pay for that_ , Remus replied grudgingly, glaring at the knight that captured his last bishop. 

Revenge was slow, limited as it were by the pace and availability of owls and the fickle weather but when they came, they came with mythic blows. 

And good news: _I got a job!_ Remus said. _It’s at the broom shop near the grammar school. It’s only temporary work until the person I’m replacing returns from a family emergency, but it’s better than nothing._

 _What are the chances that person was just lying and they’re just using the family as an excuse to get out?_ Sirius asked. _And what are the chances this emergency will last a lifetime?_

 _Patrick, I’m not about to get into the business of wishing ill upon men in need just because I am in need myself._ Sirius hated the name Patrick, something Remus derived from Padfoot and Paddy and used exactly to irritate him. _I am just counting my blessings._

 _Anyway_ , he went on, _how’s Hal?_

He thought he heard Sirius groan in his letter. _Right now, he’s about half the idiot his dad was. He went with Krum to the Forbidden Forest to talk about Germany_ , Hermione’s codename, _Alone. And if you don’t think that was an asinine thing to do, you should know that Krum was attacked when he left. That could have been Hal._

 _Krum was attacked?_ Remus frowned at the letter he wrote, tea forgotten. Outside, the rain poured evenly and sometimes he heard distant thunder murmuring. _But why? Did anyone see this happen?_

 _Crouch is involved_ , Remus felt a chill rush up his spine as he read the reply. _Hal said he’s gone somewhat mental and was looking for Dumbledore. When he went to get Dumbledore, Krum was down and Crouch was gone._

Pacing his house, Remus thought back to Dumbledore’s visit. At that time, he thought it was simply an act of precaution, but now he wondered if he’d meant Sirius to play a more active role all along. He wrung his hands together. That Dumbledore should ask a man in hiding to step out of the shadows…

 _Well, keep safe, you and Hal_ , he wrote as a closer to his next letter. _Things are getting out of hand and I know it’s hard not to get involved when you’re itching to jump into the fray but don’t jump the wand. Hal’s safety is our priority._

_Keep me posted._

Days pass by without a letter from Sirius.

_**June ‘95** _

His job at the broom shop was a welcome distraction. Although it was slow most days, Remus always found something to fuss over to forget about Sirius’ silence and put up a good impression.

Sadly, it was not good enough to keep him employed. Come June, Remus was advised that he only had until the end of it to work with them. The man he was replacing would be back the next month. 

So that was that—back to square one. No job, no Sirius. 

He nudged the door to his cottage open and ambled in with a melancholic air. He’d just hiked up the hillock like a muggle in the company of his thoughts, circling round and round whatever future lied in wait for him. Carefully, Remus shut the door, carrying the knob all the way to silence the click. He looked around his house while he shrugged off his shoulder pack and lowered it slowly to the floor—then dropped it.

His wand materialized in his hand, buzzing with his adrenaline when he aimed it at the dark robe flying out from the back of the stairwell, throwing his own wand to him. “ _Ex—!_ ”

“ _—pelliarmus!!_ ”

Remus didn’t have time to panic over his wand when there was another one spinning towards him, a bit darker in shade and sharper in its angles. He caught it smoothly in the air and pointed it back to his assailant.

“Sirius,” he gasped at the man whose surprise stared back at him. His hair was longer now and he’d lost a bit of muscle weight but it was still very much him. True enough, when Remus inspected the wand he held, he recognized the design and the polish from his youth. “You got your wand back!”

“Dumbledore gave it back to me before I left Hogwarts,” Sirius started to explain as he marched to the wizard who swung his wand to the door to lock it. “I knew you would attack me the moment you stepped in so I had to disarm you immediately. I Apparated while you were at work, I had a lot of time to think about this.”

“But why were you hiding behind my stairwell?” Remus asked, opening his arms. Sirius lashed his own around him to bring them body to body, and Remus kept him in place with his own. “Did you take a _shower_?” The fact that Sirius even thought about it was ridiculous after being attacked by the man. “I can smell your shampoo.”

“I did, I didn’t want to look like a bum when you saw me in case you didn’t recognise me. Oh I missed you,” Sirius mumbled to his ear, kissing it and squeezing him. “I’m so relieved to see you’re safe!”

“As am I,” Remus assured him, parting to look closely at his clean face. He noticed he’d shaved; he felt it when he was brushing Sirius’ cheek with his thumb, his hand cupping the corner of his jaw, seeking to calm him down. “What happened? Did you come alone? Where’s Harry? Where is Buckbeak?”

Sirius looked lost in the receiving end of his barrage of questions, but Remus took comfort in the fact that his fingers didn’t yield behind him. “Remus,” he began eventually, “you’re gonna wanna sit down.”

By the time Sirius had finished narrating the events, it had already started to get dark. They hadn’t even thought to put together a proper dinner, satisfying themselves instead over reheated soup and some toasted bread. Remus was keen to stop him at many points with his questions and disbelief, but two things paralyzed him and rendered him quiet: the wound Peter Pettigrew dealt on James Potter’s son to draw his blood for Voldemort, and the death of Cedric Diggory. He had been his student, and he remembered him to be kind, charming and diligent. He never realized that even at this age, a promising boy’s life could run so short because of a murder. He never realized…

He stared at the blinding light show of the crackling fireplace, half-stunned. “So that’s it!” he said, coming to life. “Just like that, it’s war again!”

Sirius looked grim and he spoke with the same gravity. “That’s about the size of it,” he said.

Remus looked at him, then looked back to the flames. Next minute he sprung to his feet and went around the coffee table, as though he suddenly had somewhere else to be. He stopped before he reached his dining set, still laden with their dinnerware, then doubled back and started for the couch again, where Sirius watched him. He went back and forth, raking up his gray-streaked hair once, twice…

“We have to tell everyone,” Remus concluded. “We’ve got to let them know!”

“I already did,” Sirius said, standing up. “Figgs, Fletcher, the old crowd. That’s what Dumbledore said, and that’s what I did. I left Buckbeak with one of them, remember? Too suspicious to go travelling around with a hippogriff.” When he reached the pacing Remus, he stilled him with his hands on his sleeves. Remus saw them, and looked at him as if he couldn’t believe what Sirius had just done. “I would have gone straight to you after I left Hogwarts but I had to pull everyone together. I know there’s not much of us left from the last war anymore, but…”

“And me?” Remus asked, almost breathless. “Did Dumbledore say anything about me? Is there something I have to do, a message I have to deliver…”

“No, not yet,” Sirius interrupted him, shaking his head. The bearer of bad news though he was, he was exceptionally calm, taking full control of the situation.

Of Remus, who was ready to fly to Hogwarts that very night if he Sirius hadn’t put him under his spell. Later on, he would be able to reflect and realize that the Sirius who’d come to him was a Sirius who’d already spent his rage and delivered the summons more than once. He no longer had Remus’ racing heart, his cold fingers, the dread blanching his already colorless skin.

“And you?” Remus asked again.

“Lie low at Lupin’s.” Sirius spoke slowly. “That’s what he told me. And that’s what I’m going to do.” Out of nowhere, a smirk went up his face. “Not a bad first task, considering what I just did the whole year.”

Remus’ smile flickered, and then it was lost. Aimlessly, his hands went up to Sirius’ forearms, then up his face but hesitated and reached for his hair. When his friend realized what he was about to do, he snatched his hands forced them down between them.

“No, Remus, no grabbing,” Sirius said to him in a low, but urgent voice. “Remus, Moony, look at me.”

“ _How_ could you be so calm, Sirius?” Remus hissed, baring his teeth at him. “You heard me, you _know_ it! War, we’re at war. Again! We can’t just take this sitting down!”

“We’re _not_ , Remus, what do you think I went around the whole bloody country knocking on doors for?” Sirius replied with the utmost restraint. Between the two of them, he’d always been the fiery one, the screamer, the howler, the one who burst at the drop of a hat. And Remus wanted to see it _now_ , he wanted to see that raging indignation set things right. “This is war, but this time we’re going to make it _our_ war.”

“This _is_ war, Sirius, and war is war,” Remus snarled. “We lost James and Peter in the last war, who are we going to lose this time?”

“We’re not!” Sirius roared, sending Remus back with a jump. He tightened his fingers around the startled man’s hands who tried to shake them free. “We’re _not_ going to lose anyone this time, Remus. Because this time, we’re better prepared. This time we’re going to win!” When he lost Remus’ hands, he brought his own to the back of his friend’s neck, thumbs tracing the downward line of his cheekbone. Remus reached up to hold his wrists. “If we lose anyone…it’ll be over my dead body.”

“Don’t _say_ that,” Remus growled, glaring at the man looking closely at him. “I lose you, I lose the only person I have left in this world. _Don’t_ make me lose you, Sirius. Don’t make me go through all those years of silence and solitude again, Sirius.”

“You won’t,” Sirius sighed, suddenly deflating, bringing their foreheads together. Remus reached up to the back of his head, fingers entangling themselves in his black locks as he used to do, and then kneading an easing pressure at the top of his neck. “You won’t,” he said again.

Just like that, Remus felt himself relaxing and closed his eyes. It felt good to have the man on his side again. His presence had always been a great comfort to him and his confidence had often been strong enough to dispel his own uncertainties. Sirius’ touch was warm and solid, and he smelled as always of the fresh spring he knew. “Oh, I missed you,” he groaned.

“I know. I missed you, too.” Sirius nudged his face upwards and kissed him. Remus dragged in his breath and grasped him by his neck and shoulders. “Merlin, I missed you _so much_ ,” he murmured when their lips briefly parted.

“Don’t make me lose you,” Remus breathed before he chased after his mouth for a quick kiss. “If I lose you, I’ll miss you forever.” He kissed him again. “Don’t make me lose you again.” And again.

“I won’t.” Sirius kissed him back, his arms snaking out to surround Remus’ sides again and pull him in. “We’ll see each other after the war.” He kissed him on his jawline. “I’ll stand there on a bridge, covered in blood.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Remus sighed when those lips found his pulse. He’d tilted his head up.

“And you’ll see me and run to me and cling to me like one of Aunt Euphemia’s romance novels.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Remus chuckled. He shuddered when Sirius kissed his ear again.

“And then we’ll grow old together and smell of soap.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Remus whispered, pulling Sirius back just so their mouths can meet again. “Don’t jinx it,” he asked him again.

He was happy when Sirius nodded. “Okay,” he said, sucking on Remus’ lower lip before he dipped under his chin again to kiss his throat. “I won’t.”

It was as if by speaking those words, Sirius had just cast a powerful spell that would ensure that the war would not be cruel to them. It was childish magic, meant only to fool those who were scared to sleep in the dark because of an imaginary bogeyman, and Remus knew this. He knew how brave words meant so little when the enemies came, what it felt like to be disillusioned, the dread of waking up another day and realizing that your friends were still gone and would no longer come back.

But Sirius was there, and he was real and Remus knew this, too. And if he were to put his faith on anyone, it would be someone who was real, and present and who was _there_. And who was willing to fight with as much blind loyalty as he was, to protect whatever they had left that mattered and to die trying. Sirius’ past should have made him doubt his faith but if there was anything that the truth told him, it was that he’d been right to put his trust on the man, all along.

He wasn’t the only one who’d lost so much in the last war—Sirius, perhaps, had lost so much more. And if there was anyone he would believe in, it was a man who would fight so that it never happened again.

He felt Sirius’ hand wandering down to his thigh to raise his leg. Remus obeyed and carried himself around the other man’s waist, all the while keeping their mouths attached and their tongues in motion. He’d barely gotten the chess set out of the way with a clumsy sweep of his arm before he felt the solid surface of the coffee table flat on his back.

Sirius raised himself and removed his robe and his shirt. They met again in another wet kiss when Remus chased after him, allowing Sirius to help him out of his own clothes before he dragged the man back down by his neck. Sirius took control and he let him. Normally, Remus would fight him for it and Sirius would give in but not tonight. Tonight, Remus wasn’t picky. He just wanted to be with the man who he believed in.

It had been thirteen, fourteen long years since they’d last made love at all, but they moved with a rhythm that was familiar to them both. They felt like they were fifteen again—young, crazed, hopelessly in love and inexperienced—but each rekindled feeling only drove them to be bolder, to keep trying until they hit just the right note. Just the right high.

They’d made a mess of Remus’ living room. They’d sent the chessboard straight under the couch, the pieces everywhere, the coffee table to the wall where it wouldn’t bother them when they tumbled around the floor.

Taking the wand that was closest to him, Remus reached up to the fireplace overhead and started poking the logs. A storm was raging. Thunder boomed every so often and they could hear the windows rattling against the wind. Somewhere in the house, there was something that sounded like a leaking faucet.

“Oi,” Sirius called him from the back and kicked his leg. “Oi, get your own wand, you.”

“Same difference,” Remus muttered lazily as he set aside Sirius’ smoking wand, although the polish was still intact. “And it’s bloody cold,” he groaned, shuffling deeper into Sirius’ robe draped over his nakedness.

“So scoot over,” Sirius said to him, but Remus didn’t move. So _he_ scooted over, and reached out to drag the other man towards him so that they were chest to back, and he could swing a leg over Remus’. Remus made a half-hearted moan. He kissed him on his bare shoulder. “Merlin, you’re so thin.”

“Perks of being an impoverished werewolf,” Remus laughed. He shifted for space so he could lie on his back, the robe displaced. Sirius pulled himself closer again and rolled over so that now, they were chest to chest, tummy to tummy. Remus’ reached over his shoulders to find the crescents and rivets he’d dug into Sirius’ skin while the man was pushing inside him. One of his hands wandered down to a bite mark that was most definitely his. Sirius used to say that he liked them but Remus always felt guilty whenever he hissed because of them.

“So what are we?” he asked all of a sudden, looking up to Sirius’ face.

“A pair of war veterans about to fling themselves headlong into battle again.”

“Aside from the depressing obvious,” Remus laughed again.

Sirius replied by taking Remus’ hand from over his shoulder and slipping his in it. It was a wonder that after all these years, their fingers still knew the spaces between each other’s. He placed them next to Remus’ ear, as if they were precious stones he were setting aside to keep safe.

“We are what we are,” he said.

What did that make them, then? Long lost lovers, friends with benefits. Rebels, soldiers seeking comfort before the war…at what point did a rebel become a soldier?

“We have to tell Harry,” Remus said instead, spiraling out of his endless thoughts. “We’re his family, he has to know.”

“I know, but let me do it.” Sirius leaned in to kiss Remus. “I’m his godfather. I’d like for him to know it through me.” And then he grinned. “Thinking about it, it feels like I’m about to introduce him to his step dad.”

“James is rolling in his grave, Sirius.” Remus grinned while Sirius laughed. “I don’t think he and Lily ever imagined their son to be raised by _us_ , of all people.”

“It’ll be fun,” Sirius said, shrugging. “James chose me as godfather, that means he had absolute trust on my parenting skills.” Remus snorted. “We’ll adopt Harry, move to Scotland, raise him among sheep, grow old together and smell of soap.”

“Ohhh Sirius,” Remus sighed, the last traces of laughter fading. “I don’t think this life of domesticity suits us.”

“Why not?” Sirius pouted. If his chin had been on his chest, Remus could imagine him imitating his canine persona perfectly. “I thought you liked the domestic life? A house, a fence. A child of our own…”

“You’d break out in hives and start crawling all over the place. The only reason why I was able to restrain you before was because you were in hiding and you didn’t have a wand.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius shrugged. “Try me.”

He might have been expected to argue, but Remus’ thought process was shot that night, practically fried from the horrors and the excitement of the night that he chose a completely different route to respond. Sirius was so close to Remus’ face that he was tempted to raise his head just a little so that they would kiss again. But he snaked his free arm around Sirius’ waist instead, and the other man instinctively hung onto his shoulder when he pushed them both to reverse their positions.

Now looking down at Sirius, Remus’ smirk twitched slightly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try you.”

They made love again until the rain had stopped. And when they tired, they padded up to Remus’ bedroom and did it again. Come the morning, Sirius would wake up to see Remus on top of him, drawing lazily patterns on his chest. A sleepy smile cracked his face slightly open. “Mornin’, luv,” he drawled.

Remus looked up to see his eyes looking back at him, and he smiled. “Morning, luv,” he replied. “You awake, then? I was thinking we ought to talk about breakfast.”

“Oh? I like the sound of that.” Sirius shifted himself up higher Remus’ pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. “What do you have in mind?” When Remus darted under the cover over his hips, Sirius broke out in laughter.

That was how they spent their days together—in complete defiance to the old order they had once put together, the world beyond the cottage be damned. They had sex in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night before they slept and woke up again the next day to have more sex. The obsession with each other’s skin, taste, shape, touch, everything became akin to their fuel to keep going everyday. When the demons of war came like a ghost, they sought each other for comfort, exhausting themselves until they were sick with love and euphoria and they could sleep dreamlessly and wake up when daylight had come, when they could forget everything that wasn’t good. Sirius was a constant bother to Remus whenever he tried to put together some semblance of practical living, groping him from the back while he was making the bed, lunch, and Remus retaliated by inviting himself to baths and showers, extending what would have been a quick affair to something that lasted for at least an hour.

“It’s like we went straight back to our fifth year,” Remus mused one time while they lied on the couch, legs entangled, himself pinned between Sirius’ arm and chest. He was idly tracing the shape of the man’s neck with a finger. “After our first time, we could barely keep our hands from each other, it was beginning to be a problem.”

“So where do you want me bent over next?”

“Hm?” Remus curled his brows.

“You told me that one time, in our fifth year,” Sirius said, flicking some locks off Remus’ eyes. “We wanted a quickie between our classes and ran up to our bedroom to get the deed done. But we still had time and we were a pair of antsy wankers,” Remus laughed, “so then you asked me, so where do you want me bent over next? I swear, you could practically see my knob rise up to the occasion after you said that!”

“I can’t believe you still remember these things!”

“I don’t easily forget those glorious moments, Moony.” Sirius smirked. “So, where do you want me bent over next?” He grinned.

Remus smiled back, but there was a weight on it. His eyes strayed from Sirius’ to find his exposed clavicle as he started to trace it. “Just stay here with me,” he mumbled.

“Oh come now, Moony!”

“Padfoot, listen to yourself!” Remus laughed a little. “We were fifteen, when I said that. Fifteen! That’s more than half our ages now. We aren’t schoolboys anymore.”

“That’s the thing, Remus, we’re _not_ schoolboys anymore,” Sirius snapped back, surprising Remus. “You know, every time I watch you sleep, every time we make love to each other, I keep thinking to myself this is borrowed time. This could be the last time we kiss, this could be the last time I hear you scream my name. And if this is borrowed time, I just want to keep kissing you and making love to you as much as I can. Before time is up.” He paused to study the other man’s expression. “I just don’t want to hear myself saying…I wish I’d held you more often or I wish we’d spent more time together. I’m sick of those thoughts, Remus. So now I’m asking you again, where do you want me bent over next?”

Remus opened his mouth and his brows quivered. A thousand words clamored to make it through his racing thoughts but failed to turn themselves to sound. The silence persisted, and as it got more awkward, Sirius bit his lips together, and Remus laughed uneasily. “Are you serious?” he asked. Quickly, he added, “No, don’t answer that, that wasn’t a pun…”

“I didn’t know which pun to answer to either,” Sirius admitted, shaking with his own laughter.

Remus dropped his head back with an easy smile, waiting until Sirius had satisfied himself. When they looked at each other’s eyes again, he said, “I reckon the kitchen’s available.”

After that, Remus found himself waking up in the middle of every night just to see Sirius up close and feel his arm and weight around him, like a security blanket. During the times they slept facing each other, he observed him, and searched for the years he’d missed in his body, like he’d once done but could not do so as intimately. In the past, he’d only found his sacrifices. Now he saw the suffering, the torture, the scars that changed the Sirius of his memories and turned him to the Sirius who returned to him. Found them all, took stock of them, memorized them all so he could find them again the next time he opened his eyes. If they were living in borrowed time, he realized these were the moments he wanted more of. When he would wake up to see Sirius, see him sleeping and holding him close. The moments where he felt safe and contented that he wasn’t alone, in good and darker times.

He woke up one morning without that reassuring weight and shifted uneasily. A hand wrapped itself carefully around his shoulder and held him firmly in place. Remus started to complain until another hand squeezed itself between his lips and the pillow he was kissing. In a heartbeat, he came awake.

Remus lied still for three seconds until the hand on his shoulder tapped him twice. He turned slowly backwards.

Sirius was there on his side, pressing a finger to his own lips. His heart burst with relief upon seeing the man again, but stopped when he finally heard the odd sounds coming from below. Hushed clinks and thuds, something that fluttered in the air…

As one, they moved; Sirius rolled himself out of bed and Remus sprung out as quietly as he could. They dressed themselves up hastily, just enough to look decent.

Remus went down first, his bare feet falling soundlessly upon the steps, mindful of the ones that creaked easily. Sirius stayed back to preserve his friend’s advantage—after all, he knew his own cottage best.

Bit by bit, the further he descended, Remus came to recognize the back of the visitor who drank his tea on a newly drawn seat for his dining table: Albus Dumbledore’s. His long silver hair cascaded over the back of his chair, and his robe was purple and decorated by silver stars. He’d removed his hat and set it next to him on the table while he read the Prophet with his left and raised his tea with his right.

Remus pressed his wand tip right at the end of his skull from the back before Dumbledore could take another sip. “Tea cup down,” he advised him gently. “I’m rather fond of that one.”

Sirius’ steps came thundering down soon after. Confusion was clear on his face when he arrived but he aimed his wand at the old man slowly returning the cup to its saucer as instructed. A beat later, he moved in quickly to retrieve the white wand that sat near the purple wizard’s hat and hurried back again to give his hex some space should he ever need to cast it.

The old man raised both his hands slowly. “I come in peace, Remus, Sirius. Do not be alarmed. Allow me, please, to introduce myself.”

Just then, a massive scarlet bird dived in from the open kitchen window in a flutter of wings and perched itself imperiously at the top of Remus’ dining chair. The owner jumped, gaping at the sudden animal.

“Fawkes,” Sirius recognized him with relief. “Merlin, Dumbledore, I’d feared the worst.”

“These are quite the times to fear the worst, Sirius,” Dumbledore assured him while Remus backed away and finally put down his wand. “Thank you, Remus,” he said to his sudden host cordially before he extended his hand towards his wand. “May I, please? Just one more party trick, if you will.”

Sirius handed it to him, hilt first.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. With quick movements, a silver fog streamed out of his wand tip and took shape in the air as it circled around them once, wings outstretched, tail feather dragging its wispy shadow in its wake. When the patronus disappeared, he turned back to Remus and smiled.

Remus smiled back in apology. “My mistake, Sir. I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why, not at all! What would have been a mistake was for you to trust me immediately. A single strand of hair, after all, would have been enough for even Voldemort to turn to me.” And yet, Dumbledore sounded cheerful as he excused Remus’ hysteria. He looked at him from behind his half-moon glasses, then looked at Sirius, then him, then back again. Suddenly, he giggled.

Remus could practically feel the tips of his ears burning. Sirius cleared his throat. When he turned, he saw the man pulling his lapel up, closer to his neck. Probably to hide a bite mark or a scratch…

Dumbledore gave them time to clean up and sort themselves out while he filled the table with another one of his scrumptious breakfast deliveries. This time, there was hash, eggs, tiny sandwiches and fruits. Fawkes enjoyed a special breakfast of seeds on the kitchen counter. 

“I’m afraid that this time, I must excuse myself at a much earlier time as there is much work to be done in reinstating the Order of the Phoenix,” he began to explain to his two willing soldiers, shoving a sandwich down their gullets each. “And on that vein, I must thank you, Sirius, for preparing the stage.”

“Don’t mention it, I was happy to do it,” Sirius said with little commitment.

“Now, first things first,” Dumbledore proceeded as is, “I’d like to assure you that Harry Potter has returned with the Dursleys with whom he will stay until summer’s end.”

“Does he really have to stay with the Dursleys?” Sirius asked, a spoon loaded with hash and scrambled eggs held at the ready. “I’m here! He could stay with me and Remus.”

“He would be safer among the Dursleys, I assure you,” Dumbledore said to Sirius. “But, should we require to redo his arrangements, I will be sure to send word.” This time, he looked at Remus, who could do nothing but to nod. “Now, for the second and last order of business, I’m afraid I will need help in looking for a house.”

“A house?” Remus spat. He wouldn’t put it past the old man to mix personal affairs with work sometimes but even with that reputation, he couldn’t imagine Dumbledore taking advantage of his alumni for something selfish at such a time as a second war.

“We’ve not only brought together the old crowd back, you see,” the old man went on smoothly. “We’ve also gained some new members who are eager to start the campaign as soon as possible. And we cannot begin making our plans until we have established a center of operations.”

“You mean a headquarters…” Remus thought briefly, furrowing his brows a little. “How about this place?”

“You only have two bedrooms and I doubt the others would consent to pitching up tents outside, especially on winter,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “We need something sturdier, too.”

“Then I suppose that takes the Shrieking Shack out of the equation,” Remus said thoughtfully. He scooped some hash onto his plate, running through ideas as he started to pick at them with his fork.

“Oh shit.”

Remus and Dumbledore looked up at the half-gaping man as one. “Something the matter, Sirius?” their former headmaster asked.

“Maybe. Depends on your perspective,” Sirius turned to both of them in turn. “But I think I’ve just got the place in mind.”

_**July ‘95, 12 Grimmauld Place** _

Remus couldn’t believe his ears when Sirius had suggested his parents’ house during their last meeting with Dumbledore, and he was keen to discourage him from pursuing the matter but had to concede that the place sounded right. It belonged to Sirius completely, was huge and well-furnished and was protected by a thick layer of enchantments Sirius’ father had put into place. After they’d inspected the place, Dumbledore decided that it was a good location to set-up their base.

They left Yorkshire immediately after the decision was made. They would need to prepare the house for the other members of the Order who would be arriving soon.

Remus’ thoughts were interrupted when he heard Sirius drop his bag to the dusty floor. He’d been looking at an old picture hanging on the wall of his bedroom, of the four of them in Hogwarts, taken outside the castle, when he whirled to see Sirius frowning at his dead fireplace, his fingers coming together in a fist. It was not a happy sight but Remus would happily take it; since they’d stepped foot in the old house and passed by an old painting of Sirius’ screaming mother, he’d gone increasingly more sullen every floor they passed and room they checked. It got worse when they found Kreacher the house-elf lurking near the kitchen. Remus had to drag Sirius away from the old thing before Sirius could be tempted to shoot his head off with a hex. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to return to a place of abuse, where there was nothing to be heard from its walls but angry words, disappointment and hatred.

The past, he could do nothing about—but the present and the future, Remus was willing to give it a try. Once, Sirius had filled the space between his walls with his laughter and his passion. This time, Remus would like to do the same.

He marched behind the brooding man and called to him gently, “Hey.” Even as Sirius turned, he’d already reached for his hand and entwined their fingers together. He squeezed him in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Remus smiled at him. “It will be all right,” he said.

Sirius smiled back at him, and looking down their joint hands, tightened his fingers around his.


End file.
